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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765992">The Harrowing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain'>CalamityCain</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffiaan/pseuds/Saffiaan'>Saffiaan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Crying, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Fuck Or Die, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:09:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffiaan/pseuds/Saffiaan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With their lives at the mercy of the law, how much will two friends sacrifice for each other's freedom?<br/>(Chapter 1 by Saffiaan; Chapter 2 by CalamityCain; Chapters 3 to 6 are all collaborative efforts)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annas/Jesus Christ, Annas/Simon Zealotes, Apostle James/Simon Zealotes, Jesus Christ/Judas Iscariot, Joseph Caiaphas/Jesus Christ (Jesus Christ Superstar), Joseph Caiaphas/Simon Zealotes, Non-Consensual Pairings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The story's title is a reference to a myth that (more or less) refers to an act of going through hell and back</p><p>All characters are based on the 2012 Arena show, including one of the (unnamed) Pharisees to whom we decided to give the role of an ambitious intern named Jonathan. For funsies.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And the ones who load the dice</span><br/>
<span>Always say the toss is fair</span><br/>
<span>And the ones who deal the cards</span><br/>
<span>Are the ones who take the tricks</span><br/>
<span>With their hands over their hearts</span><br/>
<span>While we play the game they fix.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If It’s True (Hadestown) © Anais Mitchell </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>~</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas looked up from the footage his intern, Jonathan, was showing him when the doors to his office opened. In walked two guards holding a third man between them. Simon Zealotes, if the files were correct. Though honestly, Caiaphas couldn’t care less about the man’s name. He’d rather have Jesus in front of him right now, hands bound behind his back and with dried blood on his face, like their current prisoner stood before him. He’d also have preferred it if Jesus didn’t look as calm and almost cheerful as this Simon did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon glanced at Annas and Jonathan before his eyes settled on Caiaphas, who said: “You’ve caused quite the trouble.” His tone was as easy as if he were talking about the weather. Usually, this set people off and made them uncomfortable. Simon didn’t seem bothered by it at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that I oppose to stretching my legs, but please tell me you aren’t simply going to state the obvious? I might just die of boredom,” Simon said, as if that was his biggest problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas heard Annas mutter something behind him, but he didn’t pay too much attention to his colleague. Instead, he looked Simon over once more. The man truly didn’t seem that remarkable: simply another troublemaker who shouldn’t be let loose on the streets. If only he wasn’t so infuriatingly pleased with himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a gesture, Caiaphas told the guards to leave. Something flickered behind Simon’s eyes at that, but it was gone before Caiaphas had the chance to decipher what it was. Something which only motivated Caiaphas to pull it back to the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you misunderstand me,” Caiaphas said with a wolfish grin. He walked around the desk to lean against the front of it. “You’ve caused quite some trouble for yourself. And your friends.” This seemed to have an effect on Simon, who took a half-step forward before he stopped himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas reached for the screen on his desk and turned it so Simon could see the images of the riot from the previous day. One that had gotten completely out of control and resulted in multiple people wounded and some serious damage of property. The images had been carefully cut by Jonathan to focus mostly on Simon and the people he interacted with most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see,” Annas continued as he made his way to stand beside Caiaphas, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s not just you who has been taken into custody. There were quite a few others, some of whom might interest you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas gestured to Jonathan, who was all too happy to read from a file on his laptop: “Taken into custody since yesterday are twenty-three people, among whom are Mary Magdalene, Matthew Levi and James Asluga.” This definitely got a reaction out of Simon, who had stiffened up for a second and then glared at Caiaphas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Caiaphas said with a smile. Now they were talking. Of course, there was no point in making Simon feel at ease by being straightforward. “Nothing more than for our citizens to stay safe. And obedient. We simply want to stop troublemakers such as yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously,” Simon said, sounding as unimpressed as Caiaphas, “but what do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>want? Because if that was all, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas had to hand it to Simon: he didn’t try to twist in circles to get around the point. Very well. He supposed it saved himself some time as well. “Your leader, Jesus. We’d like to nip this problem in the bud, as I’m sure you’ll understand. You and your friends are innocent; forced by circumstances and so on. We understand this entirely. Fanatics such as Jesus can be very dangerous.” Clearly, no one in the room thought Caiaphas actually believed this. They all saw it as what it was: an excuse. The only one Simon and his friends would be offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do that,” Simon said, apparently not even considering the idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean you won’t,” corrected Annas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure when you hear our offer and reconsider the situation, you will see reason,” Caiaphas said. “We simply want to exchange Jesus for you and your friends. Just him against the four of you. You’d be doing everyone a service. He’s dangerous. Someone ought to keep him under control. That doesn’t sound so unreasonable, now does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe, but I still won’t do it,” replied Simon without missing a beat. The stubborn jut of his chin was starting to become annoying. “Nor will my friends. We don’t betray each other like that. Something you may not be familiar with, considering the people you surround yourself with.” Simon’s eyes slid over Annas and Jonathan again, before settling back on Caiaphas. “Makes you wonder how much it would cost for someone here to betray you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Simon had properly finished the sentence, Annas had stepped forward and hit him across the face, whipping Simon’s head to the side. One of Annas’ rings cut into his cheek. Blood trickled from the small but vicious wound, mingling with the dried blood already there. Annas grabbed his jaw, fingers pressing into his flesh hard enough to bruise. Simon glared at him, for the first time actually acknowledging the man was even there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you severely underestimate the seriousness of your position here,” Caiaphas said as if nothing had happened. “You see, if you don’t cooperate, we will make sure you and your friends are properly sentenced. A life spent in prison ought to put some sense in your head. Though of course, by then it will be too late. This isn’t an offer we’ll extend a second time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annas let go of Simon’s jaw, but not without running his nails into the skin and leaving behind angry red lines. Simon didn’t seem to feel the pain. He was focused on Caiaphas again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was about time I started a good old prison riot,” Simon said, though he didn’t sound nearly as careless as when they started their little conversation. Good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, we can’t have that, can we?” Caiaphas asked, cocking his head as if he was considering the problem at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can have you executed. You’ve caused enough trouble to warrant more drastic action,” Annas chipped in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have the papers ready.” Caiaphas tapped on a file that was lying next to him on the desk. They were, in fact, orders for an execution that only needed a name and signature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go for it,” Simon said with hardly any hesitation. “I’m replaceable. In a year you’ll have this conversation again with someone else. Do it. I don’t care and you won’t be helping yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sound very sure of yourself,” Annas said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because I am,” Simon shot back. He definitely looked sure of himself. Caiaphas realised that they wouldn’t achieve anything by threatening Simon’s life. He could only threaten the lives of his friends. But he couldn’t condemn three fairly innocent people to death without receiving a huge public backlash of some sort. To have to deal with such things was a waste of energy at best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it looks like we’ve reached an impasse,” Caiaphas said, crossing his arms. “A shame. I had really thought we could help each other here.” He was about to call the guards bring Simon away when his captive spoke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who says we can’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas had already turned around, but stopped at the remark. He grinned before turning back with a neutral expression. “Do continue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of you look like you’ve had a good head in a while,” Simon observed. “I take care of each of you, one by one. After each one, you’ll let one of my friends go. Until after I’m done, at which point you’ll let me and my last friend go.” The man didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the offer. To his credit, he managed to hide it pretty well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are in no position to negotiate,” Caiaphas pointed out - though in all honesty, he was considering it. It was, at the least, a most interesting offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither are you.”. At Caiaphas’ raised eyebrow, he elaborated: “You can lock us up, but what’s that going to get you? None of us are going to betray Jesus to you - and like you said, putting us away isn’t going to solve the problem. This is the only way you’ll get anything out of the situation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas took his time considering the offer. He kept silent and unmoving long enough for the slightest hints of desperation to creep into Simon’s posture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually,he beckoned the intern forward. “Jonathan, why don’t you test the waters for us? See if this offer is worth our time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, a slew of emotions flickered through Simon’s eye, none of them identifiable. But the fact that they were there at all was pleased Caiaphas. It was clear Simon knew he had played his only card, and would now have to see the game through to the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan walked to where Simon and Annas stood, the latter moving away to resume his position by Caiaphas’ side. Simon lowered himself to his knees, slowly and deliberately. Possibly to prevent himself from falling. More likely to postpone the inevitable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan had taken out his cock and was stroking it to a state where he could comfortably shove it in Simon’s mouth. But, before he got the chance, Simon had already wrapped his lips around it. He immediately took Jonathan all the way to the base. Caiaphas chuckled at the eagerness. Clearly Simon was still very aware of what was on the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was equally clear that despite his thoroughness, Simon hated every second of it. His body was tense. Much more than the position required him to be. His body betrayed that not even a deeply buried, primal part of him was enjoying itself. His movements bore the ease of experience, but they were stiff. Uncomfortable. They were, however, all of his own accord. Jonathan didn’t even attempt to guide him. To the intern’s defence, he was rarely at the receiving end of such acts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan only grabbed onto Simon’s hair when he came. Simon swallowed all of it. Only when Jonathan’s member had completely gone soft did Simon let go. He sat back on his heels with a coolly defiant look.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Enjoying the show? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Caiaphas ignored him, looking instead at the intern. “What do you think, Jonathan? Is he worth it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan looked at the man at his feet and nodded. Undoubtedly he had already made up his mind, but no one in the room save for Simon felt like hurrying any of this along. “He</span>
  <em>
    <span> is</span>
  </em>
  <span> good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas leaned back to buzz the guards in. Simon didn’t even look up at the men walking in, his gaze still trained on Caiaphas. They stared at each other for a long time, the air in the room thickening. Caiaphas addressed the guards. “Gentlemen, please make sure Mary Magdalene is released immediately.” The guards looked slightly confused, but didn’t say anything as they left to carry out the order.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon sagged a bit, a clear sign of relief. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. Hadn’t even tried to get up. It seemed he had decided to be efficient and take them all there. Not something Caiaphas agreed with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at Annas, gesturing with his head to the desk chair. Annas got the hint and grabbed Simon’s arm, dragging the man along. Simon tried to regain his footing, but struggled due to his previous position and his bound hands. Annas threw him on the ground. Simon couldn’t catch his fall and landed on his hip and shoulder with nothing to break the impact. He winced, unable to hide it in between everything else that was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With difficulty he pushed himself back up onto his knees. Annas sat down, unzipping his trousers, and started stroking himself to a half-hardened state. Caiaphas watched as Simon settled himself in between Annas’ legs, trying to find a way to stabilize himself with his hands bound. Caiaphas suspected he was familiar with the intricacies of such acts. He kept that in mind. There was no need for Simon to feel even the tiniest bit comfortable with the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas moved to stand behind Annas from where he had a perfect view of Simon taking Annas his mouth. Annas slid his hand into Simon’s hair, pulling hard on it. It seemed he had also noticed and disapproved of Simon’s previous liberties. There was a short struggle between them until Annas made use of his position to kick Simon in the stomach. The latter doubled over as much as his position allowed, which admittedly wasn’t a lot. Hiding it certainly didn’t seem to be a priority. Not biting down on Annas’ cock had taken that position. After that Simon gave in, letting Annas dictate his movements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon looked up to meet Caiaphas’ gaze. His eyes were dark as they focused on Caiaphas, even if his mouth was moving up and down Annas’ cock. Occasionally, Annas would pull on his hair to grab his attention. Something which only worked for seconds at most before Simon looked back at Caiaphas, who grinned. At least he knew who was in charge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annas pulled Simon close until his face was properly buried in between his thighs before spilling with a grunt down his throat. Talented or not, Simon’s body rejected it - or tried to, for there was no other way for the man’s seed to go. Simon’s attempts at deep breaths failed as adrenaline forced his breathing to quicken. Still, he held everything in and swallowed it down, even if he had to do so twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas pressed the buzzer again, and told the guards that walked in to release James Asluga. He had already decided to release Matthew last, since he had proved to fare worst under the current circumstances and was therefore more powerful leverage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up,” Caiaphas said once the guards were gone. Simon shot him a questioning glance, but he didn’t actually ask anything and simply got up. Caiaphas nodded to Jonathan, who started clearing the desk. Caiaphas watched as realisation dawned on Simon’s features, followed by silent acceptance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He was learning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas walked over to Simon and grabbed his jaw. His thumb grazed over Simon’s slick swollen lips, nails lightly scratching the sensitive skin. The slightest hint of unmistakable fear crept into Simon’s eyes. Caiaphas smiled the predatory smile reserved for occasions like these.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suggest you keep quiet if you want your last friend to walk out of here.” He grabbed Simon’s hair and pulled back his head. Caiaphas cocked his head, looking at the pulse point on Simon’s neck. His heart rate had noticeably quickened. “It would be a shame if your backtalk cost him his freedom.” He pushed down on Simon’s windpipe. “Understood?” Simon nodded as far as he was able to within the ruthless grip. Caiaphas noticed how his shoulders somehow both tensed and sagged at the motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was sure he had properly intimidated Simon, Caiaphas let go. He didn’t allow for Simon to catch his breath, but pushed him with his chest on the desk. Jonathan had by now moved to the other side of the desk and grabbed the chain between the handcuffs, pulling them up as far as possible without breaking Simon’s shoulders or arms. Caiaphas pulled down Simon’s trousers and underwear. With his foot, he kicked Simon’s feet apart. He grabbed Simon’s hair again, pulling up his head, which undoubtedly made his position even more uncomfortable than it already was. Not that Caiaphas cared, of course. Simon wasn’t here to be comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas pushed two fingers of his free hand against Simon’s lips, not even needing to use a lot of force to get them in Simon’s mouth. They were readily taken into the warm cavity, Simon’s tongue twisting around them as if it was Caiaphas’ cock. Caiaphas grinned, remembering Simon’s stubbornness when he had walked in. Such a contrast. He pulled his saliva covered fingers out of Simon’s mouth and pushed them into Simon’s hole, meeting with only a little resistance. His preparation was minimal - just enough to make room for himself. He unzipped his trousers and pulled out his already hard cock, aligning it with Simon’s hole before pushing in with one go. This caused Simon to tense up entirely, his fingers making spastic movements in their restraints, his back arching. But he didn’t make a sound. No more than soft, pain-filled pants which were music to Caiaphas’ ears. Caiaphas didn’t allow him to get used to any of this at all. Instead, he began thrusting violently into Simon well aware that every thrust had to hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if the movements were minimal, Simon was squirming underneath Caiaphas. Something which Caiaphas wouldn’t stand for. So he grabbed Simon’s hair again and slammed his head against the desk. This caused Simon to go still for the most part, curled fingers digging into his own palms. He must have been pulling hard on the restraints than Caiaphas had expected;  there were lines of blood on his wrists. Jonathan didn’t budge , though, even when the knuckles turned white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas let go of Simon’s hair and grabbed his hips, squeezing hard enough to cause bruises. He wanted to make sure to leave his mark - a lasting reminder. His fingers dug into the skin of Simon’s stomach, pulling at it, as if he could physically tear him apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Caiaphas had spilled his seed inside Simon, he slid out of him. There were traces of blood mixed with his spend from the force of his thrusts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan had let go of the handcuffs. Simon’s arms now lay limply against his back. Caiaphas took the chain between the cuffs and jerked on it, effectively pulling Simon from the desk and onto the floor, not caring that the man’s head bumped against the set of drawers on his way down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a moment to cherish the sight of Simon slumped against the leg of the desk. He didn’t move an inch, simply staring ahead. There was no emotion on his face, no attempt to fight his restraints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Broken. Or at least, close to it. Which was exactly how Caiaphas liked his prisoners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed Simon’s hair again, pulling him up to the level of his crotch. Without needing to be told, Simon started licking Caiaphas clean, his eyes still empty. When he was done, Caiaphas let go of him, causing Simon to fall back against the desk. He ran his fingers through Simon’s hair in a gesture that under other circumstances might have been comforting. “Good boy. See? The benefits of obedience.” Simon didn’t react at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas walked around the desk, looking at a smear of blood on the surface. He made a disapproving face. “This will have to be cleaned before it stains the wood.” Annas nodded, his eyes flitting to where Simon had disappeared behind the desk. “Take care of that,” he said to Jonathan, who nodded and pulled Simon with him. There was a streak of blood down the latter’s face, undoubtedly from where Caiaphas had slammed it against the desk. His expression remained blank. The stark contrast to less than an hour ago was more than a little satisfying...especially when Caiaphas knew he could make it worse still. After all, there was no need for Simon to come to his senses and realise the situation had improved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas pressed the buzzer again, which resulted in two guards walking in. “Please take Mr. Zealotes back to his cell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, Simon’s head shot up, life suddenly pouring back into his eyes. He started struggling as soon as the guards put their hands on him. “You fucking bastard! We had a deal!” Even before he had finished shouting he was back on his knees, held down by the guards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas held up his hand, preventing the guards from taking Simon out immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid no deal considering you has been made. You made an offer, but we never said we accepted it,” he explained. He saw realisation sink into Simon’s eyes as its brief fire went out. “You should be proud of yourself. You have brought your friends to freedom. And I am a man of my word. You stayed silent, and thus your last friend - Matthew, was it? - shall be released as well.” This seemed to rekindle some sort of life in Simon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will, of course, inform him personally of your heroic act today. No details left out,” Annas added, his fingers trailing over the side of Simon’s face where the blood was drying into a crust. The effect was immediate. Simon stiffened, his eyes wide and trained on the floor in front of him as his mind had jumped to the conclusion he never spoke out loud. Truly a sight to behold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re sure Jesus will do anything to secure your safety after what you have done,” Caiaphas said. He patted the back of Simon’s neck before waving to the guards to take him away. Immediately, Simon began struggling and trashing again, neither of which had any effect as the guards practically dragged him out of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon was pushed back into his cell, stumbling and falling even though his hands weren’t bound anymore. He sprung up as soon as his knees hit the ground and banged his fists against the already closed door. He screamed all manner of threats and obscenities, knowing it was useless, unable to care. The ones they were aimed at couldn’t hear and wouldn’t care if they did. Everyone who could probably thought he had lost his mind. Maybe he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The metal door didn’t budge even a bit as his fists railed against them. But he couldn’t stop. Because there was nothing else he could do. And he couldn’t just sit back. Not when there was Jesus. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus. Jesus. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The name echoed through his head like a mantra, keeping him going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t let them get close to his friend. He couldn’t let them guilt Jesus into offering himself up. So Simon had to keep going. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had to stop them, somehow. Even if that meant he had to do it all over again. He would do anything. Just, please… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice was the first to give. His throat was already hurting before he had started screaming, the result of the unkind treatment it had been subjected to. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jonathan’s cock brushing the back of his throat. Invasive. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A shout ended in a coughing fit. Every cough felt as if someone was ripping through his throat with a blunt knife. Simon grabbed at his neck. The touch was foreign to his own skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Caiaphas’ hand on his throat. Annas’ fingers digging into his jaw.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His legs gave out underneath him. He fell to the ground but held himself up with one hand. He couldn’t lie down here. He couldn’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The ground started swimming in front of his eyes. He started throwing up. Every wave shook through his spine, ending in his stomach contents being emptied on the concrete floor in front of him until there was nothing left and bile burned his already sore throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything hurt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Caiaphas pushing his windpipe closed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His lungs struggled for air at the mere memory.</span>
</p><p><span>He couldn’t stay like that. On his knees, exposed. </span><em><span>Caiaphas behind him. Annas above him.</span></em><span> He had to move. </span><em><span>Jesus.</span></em><span> He had to - </span><em><span>had</span></em><span> to - </span><em><span>Caiaphas’ predatory eyes on his skin. Hands pulling on his hair.</span></em> <em><span>Jesus</span></em><span>. To the wall. He pulled himself to the wall. </span><em><span>Handcuffs cutting into his skin. Fingers penetrating his body. Caiaphas’ cock splitting him open.</span></em><span> He slumped against the wall, its coolness only a minor comfort.</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus. </span>
    <span>Caiaphas touching him. Annas grinning. Jonathan watching. </span>
    <span>Jesus. </span>
    <span>Caiaphas. Caiaphas. Jesus. Annas.</span>
    <span> No.</span>
    <span> Jesus. Jesus. Jesus…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have wanted to write a Hydra Trash Party-inspired thing for some time now, and I finally did it - CC</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a beautiful day – balmy, blue-skied, with a crisp cool breeze – when the gleaming elevator of the towering glass building swallowed him whole to spit him out a changed man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plush penthouse lounge he was delivered into was the very opposite of the hard, ugly grey office where Jesus had last faced Joseph Caiaphas and his boys’ club. Among the interchangeable suited men were two constants: short squinty-eyed Annas, his loyal right-hand lackey; and the sharply dressed sandy-haired intern whose eyes had the oily sheen of greedy ambition. Together the three of them formed some sort of unholy triumvirate: the apex of an unbreakable cabal untouchable by law. For, of course, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>the law.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas had arranged for the present meeting to take place in a small luxurious chamber more suited to private parties hosted by rock celebrities than a negotiation for an innocent man’s freedom. Admittedly, “innocent” was a word that only loosely fit Simon Zealotes, whose role in fuelling the anarchic movements Jesus had merely started was fast propelling his reputation to the level of Jesus himself. But Simon’s infamy evidently did not make him enough of a prize. The long slow gaze Caiaphas graced him with suggested that Simon had only been leverage to lure him here, into the Persian-carpeted belly of the beast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. The pleasure’s all mine.” He beckoned the intern, who jumped to attention. “Jonathan – pour our guest a drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t ask for one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be so quick to refuse. You may find yourself in need of it.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>For what’s ahead,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he didn’t say. He didn’t need to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus drew a deep breath to steady his hands lest they start shaking. “If I fulfil my end of our deal,” he said, “Simon walks free. As do I. And each of those names on your list will be erased from the record.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smug nod answered him as Jonathan proffered the glass of expensive whisky. Reluctantly, he accepted it. “I take it you’re a man of your word,” he added softly but firmly. He waited until Annas had taken a hearty swig before daring to sip from the exquisitely cut crystal glass. The liquid burned the back of his throat, its heat masking some of the warmth he felt creeping up his face as Caiaphas rose from the sprawling leather couch. “Annas, will you do the honours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the perpetually smirking right-hand man began to unbutton his perfectly pressed trousers, Jesus realised at last that he wasn’t ready – that he would never be ready. He downed the rest of the whisky in the futile hope that it would help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take off your shirt,” said Annas in his gratingly nasal voice. “Wouldn’t want it getting dirty from all the fun we’re about to have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his steadfast refusal, Annas nodded to the two near-identical men lurking in the corner. They were built like tanks, their thuggish faces and demeanour an ill fit for their tailored suits. Before he could stop them, one twisted his arms painfully behind him while the other tore off his shirt and the tank top he was wearing beneath. His stunned silence ended only when Jonathan approached with a pair of handcuffs and clamped one around his wrist.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t part of the deal – ” he stammered.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You failed to mention that it wasn’t,” Jonathan replied cheerfully as he secured Jesus’ wrists behind his back and pushed him to his knees. Annas had already made himself just hard enough to shove his full length unceremoniously into Jesus’ mouth. One hand yanked on his hair hard enough to make him gasp. “Any biting and we’ll make things very painful for you,” came the warning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus was incapable of replying, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He would do as he was told and pray the whole thing would be over soon. But he already knew from the keen anticipation in the air, from the predatory gazes drinking in the sight of his degradation, that the party games had barely begun. What Annas lacked in length he made up in girth, and the hardness and taste of his sex invaded Jesus’ mouth thoroughly, the hand that gripped his hair dictating his movements, not giving him room to breathe. “I can tell you’ve never had anyone’s cock but your boyfriend’s,” Annas remarked, his own breaths shallow from the mounting pleasure. “Does he ever complain how bad you are at this? You should be thankful for the practice you’re getting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed his eyes shut as if he could shut out the thoughts of Judas that now invaded his head, taunting him, as if daring the man to witness what his beloved was doing: allowing himself to be used as a party favour to undo something that he had been the cause of. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And what of the rest?</span>
  </em>
  <span> the cruel taunting continued, wearing Annas’ grating voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Would they think of you the same, if they saw you like this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>His insides burned with shame as Annas spilled with a satisfied groan, locking Jesus’ head in place and forcing him to swallow it all. It felt like the taste of the man’s sex would never leave him. He was panting and trembling when he was finally released, and loathing himself for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must say, your friend Simon had a lot more stamina,” Caiaphas said, swirling a second glass and savouring the aroma of the full-flavoured amber liquid as much as he did the sight of Jesus on his knees, stained with his lackey’s spend. “Let’s see if that warmed you up enough for the next one.” Another smug-faced suit approached, a dark haired man who would have been handsome if not for the bully’s grin twisting his mouth. Jesus barely had time to adjust the angle of his head before the cock was down his throat, making him retch. He pulled away coughing, struggling to tame his gag reflex as the men around him chuckled and stroked themselves hard, each one ready to claim their share. His heart sank at the possibility that by the day’s end, he would have tasted all of them. And he would have to live with that knowledge and the memory of being reduced to a fucktoy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was allowed mere seconds to catch his breath before the cock was shoved back in. Once more he fought the urge to heave, tears brimming in his eyes, flowing freely when the rigid length moved relentlessly like a well-oiled piston, the wet obscene sound of it sliding between his lips the only sound that filled the room for a while. “I’d close your eyes if I were you,” someone said, seemingly in the distance – he was getting breathless and dizzy, and the ground was starting to sway as his knees struggled to grip the carpet. But he heeded the words just in time as the man pulled out of his mouth to spill all over his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held back the gasp of shock and the sobs that ached to follow, letting them choke him rather than crumble further than he already had in front of the men who fed on his every indignity. The one who had stained him so stepped back coolly with the air of someone discarding a soiled garment. His own clothes were remarkably pristine, right down to his silver-and-jet cufflinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ahh, it seems we brought in our special guest just in time,” Caiaphas was saying. As he blinked the room back into focus, he bit back a cry of dread. Simon was being dragged in, struggling and in agony as he had never seen him before, spitting stifled rabid half-cries. He would have bitten off someone’s fingers or ear had he not been muzzled with a leather gag. Jesus averted his face, unable to see his dearest friend like this, unwilling to be seen in such a state himself. His guts felt like they were being pounded to shreds and wrung dry. Everything hurt suddenly. He wished for oblivion, for the ground to swallow him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan was approaching with a damp cloth that he used to wipe Jesus’ face clean. He was both gentle and thorough, as if extending a gesture of kindness as a respite from the brutality. “Need to keep you looking pretty,” came the noxiously upbeat remark. It felt like a slap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t do this to him,” he found himself begging. “You can have your way with me. Just…please. Let him go.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t make him watch. Not when feeling helpless is the one thing in the world Simon doesn’t have the strength to bear.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we can’t let him go just yet. Not when you haven’t fulfilled your end of the bargain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus tried not to look at Simon or hear the heavy breaths that sounded like sobs. “Then do what you must.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you wish.” Jesus was dragged to his feet and pressed face-down against a cream-coloured desk. His heart pounded in anticipation of what was coming. Simon’s defiant grunts turned into a long muffled howl as Jesus forced himself to be still and calm, to show as little pain as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He bore all this for our friends. You can bear it for him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jonathan. You’ve worked hard these past few weeks,” said Caiaphas in the jovial manner of an indulgent uncle. “I think you’ve earned the right to sample the goods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too good to me, sir,” the intern replied with just the right amount of sycophantic servility. He shed his coat and tie eagerly but not hurriedly, knowing his next actions would make an impression on his superiors.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your time,” his boss added. “Make it good for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand ran down the length of Jesus’ naked back, making his spine tingle and drawing an involuntary shiver. How many times had Judas touched him like this? Tears stung his eyes, forming a hot lump in his throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t think of him. He’s dead to you now. It’s better this way.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan stripped him of his pants and smacked the curve of bared flesh mockingly, drawing sniggers and murmurs of approval from the rest of the audience. After a few seconds, he felt the same cool, methodical fingers slide into the place where only one other had been before (</span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t think of him</span>
  </em>
  <span>), coated generously with lubricant – a small mercy. He tried to place his mind somewhere else, somewhere far away from this luxurious penthouse suite where he was being pried open and displayed like a piece of meat. Somewhere without the sounds of Simon’s heavy, tortured breaths where the struggles against his restraints had lapsed into a terrible, defeated stillness.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The tip of the eager young man’s cock teased his opening, growing harder and harder before it pushed past the ring of muscle that had been loosened, but not nearly enough. “Is he tight still?” asked the handsome brunette with the impeccable hair and cufflinks. “I had assumed the people’s leader would get around quite a bit; but he squirms like a virgin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was the man merely teasing, or was he indeed squirming? The more effort he made to be unmoving, unsatisfyingly passive, the more it hurt – when Jonathan shoved his full length in, he wanted to scream. His ragged gasp was all it took for Simon to resume the pointless fight against the shackles that kept him quite secure. Everyone else in the room – save for Caiaphas, who was perfectly positioned to enjoy the view from where he sat – drew closer until they formed a loose circle around the desk. One of the thugs who had divested him of his shirt earlier pulled out his own cock, stroking himself inches away from Jesus’ face. He closed his eyes until Jonathan pulled on his hair with enough force to make him yelp. Then he was being pushed a few inches further along the desk until his head hovered over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Use his mouth,” Jonathan instructed the masturbating thug. In the space of minutes, he had gone from amiable sycophant to someone who commanded the attention of the room, and of its lesser men. Annas threw him a look of approval – of subtle admiration, even. The man being issued the order obeyed without hesitation. He took over the intern’s grip on Jesus’ hair and with his other hand forced Jesus’ mouth open. The man was well hung, his thick dripping cock heavy and veined, the musky smell of his sex overwhelming. Within seconds his resolution had crumbled and he was whimpering with pain and with the need for breath, even the slightest respite denied him. His helpless moans around the girth that stretched his lips obscenely delighted all of his witnesses save one. Jonathan and the broad-shouldered brute made a ruthless team; the more he struggled, the harder they thrusted, and he could not stop his body from straining and pleading where words could not. Just before blackness teased the edges of his vision, the intern came with a sharp triumphant grunt, spilling deep inside him. The excess dripped down his thighs and made him shudder with disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s getting better already,” someone quipped, as if mocking his obvious pleas for air. “Soon he’ll be almost as good a cock-slut as his friend there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annas was dragging Simon into his fast-fading view, wanting to ensure the latter was able to fully witness the violation of his compatriot. “Mister Zealotes has not been showing sufficient enthusiasm for our little performance,” the grating voice declared. “Open your eyes, mister. No more looking away during the highlights."</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The thick cock withdrew for a moment, and Jesus gasped desperately, filling his grateful lungs. His relief turned to abject fear at the click of a revolver.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Open your eyes. Look at your friend.” Thug Number Two’s gun was aimed at Simon’s temple as Caiaphas spoke. “He’s doing this to save you from your possibly permanent sentence. The least you can do is show some appreciation.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Simon could not form words, but his glare said quite clearly: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do it. Pull the trigger. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then the barrel moved from his head to Jesus’, and his expression abruptly changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold steel caressed Jesus’ forehead and cheek, teasing the edge of his lower lip. Someone was pulling his head back to hold it in place. “I want you to watch your friend finish settling his end of the bargain,” the master of ceremonies continued in his barely raised voice that held sway over every last man – including Simon. “Or the next thing to empty its load into this pretty face will be much less pleasant than another hard cock.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As if to paint a clearer picture of an already explicit threat, the gun pushed past his lips, the barrel rammed deep enough to brush the back of his throat. A garbled whimper escaped him before he could stop himself. The sound mingled with Simon’s own hoarse stifled cry.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we going to let our dear Jesus do what he came here to do,” said Annas, “or should we see how his brains look on the carpet? I’ll bet he’s as pretty dead as alive – albeit much less amusing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon showed no further reaction. The light in his eyes went out as he fell back on his knees and fixed his stare somewhere above Jesus’ head. The gun withdrew, replaced swiftly by the throbbing length that resumed its ruthless, rhythmic invasion until a rush of seed filled his mouth and he was made to take every last drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something inside him had shattered at the defeat in Simon’s deadened gaze. He sobbed openly as he was dragged off the desk and thrown to the floor, knowing it would hurt Simon further, unable to help himself. The crumbling of his own resolve deepened the misery that had begun eating at him from the moment he had set in the building. Shame and horror and dread mingled into a confusing monster that wrapped its tentacles around him, squeezing from him the last shred of hope.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At least his tears seemed to soften the bloodless chill in Caiaphas’ eyes so at odds with his signature smug cheer. “I think you’ve had near enough for one day, haven’t you?” he said softly, almost kindly. “Come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no strength left in his limbs; Jonathan was lifting him up, half-carrying him to the sofa where sat his judge and executioner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have enough in you for one last show, pet?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I have a choice?” Jesus was being pulled into his lap, made to straddle him despite barely being able to remain upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you do.” The man’s low voice grew softer, the breath of his words almost soothing against Jesus’ flushed face. “Leave your troublesome follower to his fate. He has caused you more trouble than he’s worth. Leave him and walk away, for your own good. And for the good of the rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. To do so was unthinkable. He would be haunted by the ghost of Simon, of his own betrayal, all his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after all he had been through, what was a little more?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, he heard the sound of Simon being unbound and his muzzle removed. “Alright, my dudes, you’ve had to suffer my friend’s terrible blowjobs,” came the immediate, brash declaration. “I strongly suggest those who’ve yet to be satisfied make use of my superior skills. Who’s first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slight comfort he derived from Simon’s brave front of levity was soon to be cruelly snatched away. “Your skills have been proven, Zealotes,” said Caiaphas as he slid Jesus off his lap, letting the latter tumble at his feet. “At least as far as your impertinent mouth is concerned. But you’ve yet to prove yourself a good provider of pleasure in other ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? And what do you want me to do, exactly? Name the position. I can’t take more than three people at a time, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smirk that never truly left the man’s face deepened. “You need only take one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas said nothing. His eyes slowly fell upon the figure slumped at the base of the sofa. Simon went pale as his face fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he whispered.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No? You would rather we keep one or both of you imprisoned?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Keep me. You’ll get far more pleasure from using me than him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I doubt it. I have found him </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>pleasing so far. So much that I might keep him indefinitely…unless…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then do it,” Jesus whispered hoarsely, his throat showing signs of soreness from being so relentlessly used. “Simon goes free. I stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you shut the fuck up!” Simon barked at him. He only smiled. He would have gladly let Simon yell at him forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas beckoned to Jonathan for a refill, inviting the young man to pour one out for himself. As they swirled their crystal glasses, the scent of fine whisky subtly perfuming the air, Annas spoke up. “You know very well there’s only two ways this evening can end.” He nodded at Jesus. “You fuck your friend well and good – not a half-hearted job, mind – and the both of you go free, undisturbed, forever. You don’t, and we get to see how long the messiah lasts in prison before he hangs himself in his own cell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon’s jaw stayed defiantly set, but the image sent a shudder through him before he could stop it. Annas’ smile broadened a little more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caiaphas pulled Jesus back into his lap so he was facing Simon and the rest of the room. The manicured fingers traced the lines of his bared body, circling his nipples, inviting all to feast on the sight. “Have you ever dreamt of taking him? Of defiling your friend and leader?” he asked Simon with a leer as he forced Jesus’ thighs apart. “I don’t blame you.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>One of his hands slid down to stroke Jesus to hardness; and harden he did, despite his resistance. His breaths quickened even while his face burned with shame. Caiaphas was relentless; he did not stop until Jesus came with a ragged cry all over his own belly. Murmurs of appreciation filled the room at this fine piece of performance art. Someone passed Caiaphas a handkerchief. With almost leisurely meticulousness he wiped his hand clean before pushing Jesus towards Simon, who caught him as he slumped forward with head still bent. “Your turn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do it,” Jesus whispered. “Leave while you can. Let one of us walk away without…”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Without being completely fucked up? Too late for that.” Simon hugged him fiercely. “You might as well take that gun and put a bullet in my head. I’ll die before I leave you here.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>To Jonathan, who stood nearest to them, he said: “Remove the handcuffs. I’m not taking him like a prisoner.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The intern merely smirked and knelt to unlock the restraints. He then gripped the back of Jesus’ head and forced his lips apart with a kiss, shoving his tongue deeper in the more the latter struggled. “Don’t,” Jesus managed to gasp when he was finally freed – Simon looked to be inches away from pounding Jonathan to a pulp. The last thing he wanted was for Simon to cause more trouble that might land them deeper in a bargain they were already struggling to fulfil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonathan rose, straightening his clothes, still looking impeccable, as Annas said: “On with the show, gentlemen. Get to it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Simon gently lowered Jesus to the carpet. As he lay back, staring blankly at the jade-green rosettes on the cream ceiling, Simon whispered low enough that only he could hear him. “Close your eyes. Think of something else – pretend you’re with someone else. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Be as quick as you can,” he replied, voice cracking in a humourless laugh.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He felt Simon’s hands slide down his neck and shoulders, rubbing the tension from his muscles. The man was surprisingly skilled; he found himself relaxing a little in spite of everything that had happened. He also found tears were stinging his eyes from the act of tenderness. Simon’s fingers were in him now, slicking and loosening him properly, as well as coating his own cock generously. Compared to Jonathan’s brutal assault, it barely hurt when he was breached. Once Simon was inside, it even felt somewhat pleasurable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he didn’t want it to be. His heart clenched like a stone-cold fist in his chest as the other man established a rhythm that was supposed to be enjoyable. He didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wanted from this ordeal – this attempted violation of their friendship. With every thrust his heart shattered a little more. Every effort to displace his mind or imagine himself somewhere else failed miserably. Simon tried his best to finish quickly, spilling onto the carpet rather than within him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s done,” he declared to the room. “Our deal is done.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He helped Jesus to his feet, who tried not to see the tears streaking Simon’s face even as they were surreptitiously wiped away. Tried to stay firm on legs that seemed to have forgotten how to stand. Faintly he heard Simon ordering one of the men to give Jesus back his clothes. Surprisingly, they acquiesced without a sound. Then he was numbly pulling his pants on, donning his ruined shirt that was intact enough to keep him decent (not, he supposed, that decency much described someone who had done what he had). He would have forgotten his shoes if Simon had not shoved them into his hands. Without the presence of mind needed to manoeuvre them onto his feet, he held them and stumbled barefoot into the elevator, vaguely soothed by the smell all posh hotel elevators seemed to have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Simon making a phone call as they passed through the lobby. He shrunk from the stares his dishevelled appearance drew and kept his eyes on the polished floor. All the time he wondered if they knew – if they sensed the stain of sex and shame a part of him would surely carry forever.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The walk to the gleaming glass doors seemed to take an eternity. But at long last, they made it out. He blinked dizzily when the sun hit his face. The world outside was unbelievably ordinary still. Nothing had changed. It was almost enough to make him believe he had left a nightmare…except for the soreness and awful stickiness that pervaded his entire being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need a very long shower,” he said abruptly, and laughed: a dry lifeless sound, but one that caused his lips to twist upward nonetheless.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In response, Simon enveloped him in a hug. There were things both of them wanted badly to say, but hadn’t the words or perhaps the strength for. And so they stood locked in their embrace, drawing strength from each other, until a timid honking alerted them to their driver’s presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” James said, leaning out the window with a very small, very sympathetic smile.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus was glad Simon stepped forward first to pull the door open; his own hands were trembling too badly even for that. Seeing James’ friendly face reminded him that the rest of his friends did, after all, exist; that the plushly carpeted hell he had left behind had not erased the life he knew. And strangely enough, the realisation was more disorienting than it was comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Somehow or other, someday, they will have to know.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His insides grew cold with misery. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They cannot know. I won’t let them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There had been enough pain for one day. Enough to last a lifetime. It was a pain he refused to let any of them bear. James glanced at them now and then in between the strained banter, his eyes full of concern, perhaps even flickers of pain. How much had he already guessed at? How much had he already been told? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Later, he would call Simon and implore him to keep their secret. Simon would very reluctantly agree. And he would lie to himself that he was only sparing the others, sparing his beloved Judas, and that he was not in fact afraid of how they would perceive him thereafter. Not afraid of Judas knowing – and having to live with the knowledge – that he had whored himself for a shot at freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not afraid. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He stared into the distance and pushed the truth deep into where it couldn’t rear its ugly face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You left your shoes on the sidewalk, idiot,” Simon said, chucking the black Palladiums at him and lifting some of the tension in the small silent space. The desolate cold in his heart melted a little, and this time his smile was real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Two words that carried the weight of all that had transpired. All that they now shared, and that would bind them together perhaps to the end of their days.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Simon and Jesus try to deal with the aftermath of things, in markedly different ways.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>From the moment James drove away from the hotel, a pressing silence settled in the car. One that was filled with a thousand things left unsaid. Most of those hung between Simon and Jesus. James could feel them, even if he didn’t know what they were. He wanted to ask them what had happened. Or rather, he wanted to know. He wouldn’t ever want to force either of them to relive whatever it was that had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Assuming Annas and Caiaphas had told Matthew the truth, James had a relatively good idea of what had happened to Simon. The purple bruises on his jaw did a good job at filling in the blanks. As did the dried blood on his face and wrists, which apparently no one had bothered to clean off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus, however…He looked relatively fine, if one disregarded the way he had shrunken in on himself, his obvious discomfort. James could hardly disregard either of those things, but he didn’t know what to make of them either. All he could do was guess. Not the most pleasant of pastimes, as every idea was worse than the one that came before. James secretly hoped he was way off. But the smarter part of him doubted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Simon said, his voice jarringly normal despite the situation. He leaned forward, crossing his arms over the backrest of James’ seat. Something he was prone to do on occasion, but also something that made it impossible for James to look at him. Smart. “You don’t even have coffee. How did it take you so long?” James recognised it as the plea for help that it was, and ignored that they both knew it hadn’t taken James any longer than it should have. More the opposite, since he had risked several speed fines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had to finish my chapter,” James said with a shrug as if he hadn’t practically thrown aside his book the moment Simon’s caller ID had appeared on his phone. Not that his attempt at reading had been particularly successful anyway. “Besides, it took me forever to cross the Intersection of Death.” This was equally untrue. He had avoided it altogether, knowing it would have taken him far too long to cross it. There was a reason they had given the given the intersection its nickname.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, that will do it. Alright, you’re excused by the grace of incompetent engineers,” Simon said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you said that thing was made by children who were given the exercise by overworked teachers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying those children were competent?” Despite the words, Simon’s voice lacked ts usual impudence. James ignored it the way he had been ignoring Simon’s nervous, unsteady breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> the intersection had been designed by children, they wouldn’t have been engineers at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who says they wouldn’t have been? Who decides what an engineer is anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no. I’m not having this discussion. Letting you question life and giving me an existential crisis once a year is more than enough, thanks.” Simon would have chuckled at the remark; James tried not to notice that he didn’t. He also tried not to notice his stab of guilt at the silence. Guilt was pointless, after all. It would not save either of his friends no matter how much he wallowed in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James glanced at Jesus, who hadn’t moved but stiffened up even more. James shortly tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knowing there was nothing he could do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad about the coffee,” James said. “We could go to McDonald's, but you always manage to commit some crime against food there.” They had almost reached Jesus’ apartment, besides. Which made James’ actual question unmistakable: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you need more time?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just stop by the Starbucks then,” Simon said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>was his real answer. “They’re happy to aid me in my crimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Idiot,” Jams muttered, putting on a show of annoyance. Making the detour to the Starbucks would take them at least another twenty minutes - more if traffic wasn’t cooperating. A fact James was sure Simon was very aware of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued their pointless discussion, ignoring the fact that it sounded more and more forced, and that Simon grew increasingly quiet until James got almost no input at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked without meaning to. He had already resigned himself to the fact this was not a time for pressing questions, but it had slipped out before he could stop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This morning, I think.” Simon didn’t mind the question too much, even if he sounded a bit wistful. “I wasn’t checking the clock.” What he didn’t say was how much he had slept. It couldn’t have been a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James pulled up in the parking lot of the Starbucks, joining the sizeable line for the drive-through. Simon leaned back in his seat, looking slightly more relaxed than he had when James had picked them up. At least that made one of them. Jesus didn’t look as tense anymore as when they had neared his apartment. It was something, even if it wasn’t nearly enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pumpkin spice?” James asked Simon, shaking off his creeping dread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Who do you think I am?” Simon replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No comment,” James said. “Jesus?” He hadn’t meant for his voice to turn softer, but Jesus looked ready to break, as if the first loud word would cause him to fall apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus looked around them, as if he had only now fully realised where they were. Almost immediately he sagged back into his seat and quietly said: “I don’t want anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James would have left it at that, if it weren’t for the way Simon looked at Jesus. A look that suggested he was remembering rather than seeing. James felt a chill in his spine at the implications.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll have a Chamomile Teavana,” Simon decided. James stiffened immediately. He couldn’t help himself. Chamomile tea was the only tea Simon drank, and only when he had given more blowjobs than his throat was comfortable with. James had no doubt that Simon had a very different definition of ‘too many’ than Jesus, but still.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With difficulty, James forced himself to breathe normally. He glanced at Jesus, who had his eyes trained on his hands. James met Simon’s eyes through the rear view mirror. Simon gave him a barely noticeable headshake. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t ask. Please, don’t ask.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>James nodded and focused on the line in front of him. He tried to stop his mind from asking a thousand unwelcome questions. An unsuccessful endeavour. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What happened? What had they done for him and the others? What had they done for each other?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was almost grateful for the lady who asked for their order; it gave him something else to focus on, and the idea that he was doing something to help. Settling the debt between them. Even if he knew full well there was nothing he could do to fix that - to undo the abuse Simon had suffered for his freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returned with their orders, and Simon pushed the tea into Jesus’ hands. “Don’t let that grow cold. Cold chamomile tea is the devil incarnate.” His words were casual, but there was unmistakable concern edging his voice until Jesus started taking a few sips. James pretended not to see how Simon slumped back in his seat in relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jesus,” James asked in between a pointless and rather strained discussion about whether hotdogs should be considered sandwiches (he was of the opinion that they shouldn’t). “Do you want me to drop you off at your place, or…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus looked up from his half-empty takeaway cup and met James’ eyes through the rear view mirror, albeit only for a short second. He looked out of the window as he answered: “Judas’ place, please.” His voice broke on his boyfriend’s name. Something else James ignored. He just nodded and adjusted his route.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A couple of minutes later, James watched as Jesus made his way to Judas’ front door. There was no way he was going to drive away without knowing for sure Jesus was safely inside. Not now. While he was doing so, Simon clambered onto the passenger seat from the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you could’ve just walked around the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but why do that when this is clearly the superior method?” Simon reacted without missing a beat. James rolled his eyes, though in truth he didn’t mind. They lapsed into a silence that was comfortable enough, at least considering the circumstances. It was less strained than their bickering had been, which confirmed James’ suspicions that it had been for Jesus’ benefit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon had started picking at the blood on his wrists, scratching dark red flakes off of his skin. James glanced at the scabs with a grimace. “Please tell me you’re going to wash that off.” It was the closest thing he could do to acknowledging something had happened. More importantly, it was the closest thing to offering help that wouldn’t be immediately rejected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Simon said, though he didn’t stop. He also hadn’t made a comment about James’ own showering habits, something he usually wouldn’t have hesitated to do. The absence of it sat uncomfortably in James’ stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking back into the apartment he had left about an hour ago felt more than a little strange. Somehow, nothing had changed. With a glance, James saw that Simon shared this opinion. The man had stopped in the living room, a strange look on his face. It lasted only a couple of seconds, after which he made his way towards the bathroom. He stopped before he walked into the little hallway and turned around to face James. “Join me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” James asked before he could stop himself. In his defence, he hadn’t remotely expected the request.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon gave him a dry look, but James didn’t miss the slight tension in his shoulders. He threw up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Alright, alright, just asking. Considering the fact that two showers in one week is close to ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corners of Simon’s mouth curled up ever so slightly, undoubtedly the closest thing to a chuckle James was going to get. It was good enough for now. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They got undressed and stepped under the hot stream of water. James handed Simon a washcloth. He grabbed one himself to help get rid of the dried blood on Simon’s face, where Simon couldn’t see it. With the blood gone, Simon didn’t look too bad - physically. James had no doubt there were approximately a thousand things under the surface that he had merely seen glimpses of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James was about to turn off the shower when Simon’s lips were suddenly on his own. His initial reaction was to melt in the kiss, but after a few seconds, his brain caught up with the facts. He broke the kiss, meeting Simon’s darkened eyes. “Are you sure about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Simon said curtly before resuming the kiss. For a second James considered objecting, but he rejected the idea almost immediately. If this was what Simon needed, James would happily oblige. Even if he didn’t understand it. So he wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist, pressing their bodies together as if it was any ordinary day. He readily opened his mouth when Simon’s tongue slid over his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, he pulled away when Simon’s hands grabbed his ass. “Simon - ” He didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the other let go of him altogether.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can just say so if you don’t want to,” Simon said, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. The distance between them felt far bigger than the shower stall allowed. James breached it anyway, putting his arms around Simon and pulling him in for a hug. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat when he felt how tense Simon really was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever makes you feel better, I’ll do it,” James whispered. “Anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of Simon’s tension faded, but another, stranger kind took its place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not forcing you.” Simon’s voice was muffled against James’ shoulder. It didn’t quite hide the odd tone of his voice. Something that James could only identify as fear and desperation, regardless of how much he wished it to be something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not,” James confirmed. He didn’t know how to tell Simon that he was merely worried. That he didn’t want for Simon to push too hard and hurt himself. There were no right words to convey any of that. So James didn’t try. Instead he started kneading Simon’s shoulders and kissing his head to prove his point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon took this as his cue to start kissing and sucking on the skin on James’ shoulder and neck. James let out a sigh, leaning back his head to allow Simon better access. He let go of Simon’s shoulders and let his fingers trail over his hipbones, pretending not to see the trail of bruises there. The shiver he got in response confirmed this had been the right thing to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James grabbed Simon’s ass, pulling him closer until every inch of space between them disappeared. He felt Simon’s nails scrape over his back and shuddered. A soft moan formed in his throat, to be swallowed by their next kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon started grinding against him, effectively pulling more moans from him. Getting impatient, James tugged at Simon’s arm. “Get on with it.” There was no chuckle in response. Not even a grin. Simon simply resumed their kissing, but it felt vaguely mechanical. Just when James tried to stop to see what was wrong, the coldness faded and they were kissing like nothing had happened. He forced the uneasy coiling in his stomach aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring that something was wrong was made easier by Simon pushing him against the wall. He hoisted James up with the ease of experience as James wrapped his legs around Simon’s waist. Simon’s mouth returned to his shoulder, kissing down to his chest. Lube-covered fingers entered him, stretching and pulling soft moans from his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the fingers were replaced with Simon’s cock. James moaned, rolling his head back against the cold wall. He slid his hands in Simon’s hair, lightly pulling on the strands. Simon tensed immediately. James could feel the muscles under his legs hardening and Simon’s grip on his hips tightening. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alright then. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He let go of the hair, settling his hands on Simon’s shoulders instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon relaxed for the most part, even if his grip on James’ hips was tighter than it had been before. He started thrusting into James, establishing a rhythm that was almost aggressive. Not that James minded one bit. It only served to drive him crazy faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one hand, he let go of Simon’s shoulder to grab his hard, leaking cock, stroking it in a rhythm that matched Simon’s thrusts. The strokes quickly grew more erratic and he came over both their stomachs, moaning loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned forward, pulling Simon close and kissing him again. With soft, muffled cries, Simon spilled inside James, tightening the grip on his hips before relaxing entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot water continued to pour over them as their pants echoed through the bathroom with heads leaning against each other. James’ unsteady legs rediscovered the ground, even if his weight was still fully supported by Simon and the wall behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?” James asked softly, still sounding out of breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Simon said, though he sounded too dismissive for James not to silently doubt it. Simon had no reason to lie; even if he did, James had to trust him. There wasn’t anything else he could do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you can’t keep pretending nothing happened, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Simon said and this time his voice left little room for doubt. “I’m just not making a big deal out of it.” James could try to argue that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a big deal. That Simon was allowed to address it as such. But any remarks like those would fall on deaf ears, so he didn’t waste his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” James said. He considered telling Simon to get out of the shower. They were definitely racking up the plumbing bill. However, Simon was more relaxed James had seen ever since he had picked him and Jesus up. He couldn’t bring himself to risk that for the sake of paying a bit more for water. So he just stood there and gave Simon as much time as he needed.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Judas didn’t realise he had been pacing the length of the living room for an indeterminate length of time. He had driven out for lunch and groceries, but mainly to distract himself from the haunted look Jesus had left with when he walked out the door. The look that now haunted him as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ashtray he stubbed his cigarette into was filled with the remnants of half a pack’s worth. He usually made an effort not to smoke indoors, knowing the smell would sink into the couch and cushions and stay there for a full day, and knowing Jesus would bitch about it for a full two days if not more. But he knew from the second the gate swung open to admit his boyfriend that furniture odours would be the last thing on either of their minds. He saw James’ faded blue Volkswagen pull off in an almost apologetic manner, neither its driver nor Simon pausing to even wave at him. Everything about the picture was wrong – most glaringly wrong being Jesus’ blank gaze and refusal to meet his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to your shirt?” A trivial question in comparison to other things he wanted to ask. </span>
  <span>Jesus stumbled past him without any of the usual greetings – not even the perfunctory half-smile that was customary when things were strained between them. “It’s not important.” His voice was slightly hoarse.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And why do you smell of someone else?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Judas didn’t add, more questions racing through his mind, crashing into one another. There was another man’s perfume all over him, mingled with something else: a musky smell he refused to linger on. Refused to even consider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached out to clasp Jesus’ shoulder, but the latter recoiled from his touch alarmingly. Everything about his body language said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t touch me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To take a bath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pursued Jesus all the way to the bedroom and to the adjoining bathroom, but the man was practically running from him, and all but slammed the door in his face before he could get through. “I’ll explain later,” came the same small, strangely flat voice through the barrier between them. “I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except ‘later’ never came. Jesus rematerialized over an hour later smelling of nothing more damning than freshly washed hair. His appearance was normal enough except for the suspiciously red-rimmed eyes. He offered – in the sort of voice that suggested with sunny forcefulness that Everything Is Fine – to make pasta for dinner. Despite his utterly odd behaviour that cast a pall of strangeness over the house, the herb-and-garlic infused pasta was delicious. He barely ate any of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to tell me anything, or should we keep pretending you’re fine?” Judas asked after a silent stretch of watching him push the noodles around the plate in a poor pantomime of consuming them. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus looked up and fixed his eyes at a distant point somewhere over Judas’ shoulder. “I went to negotiate Simon’s release. It was a long and stressful procedure. But we made it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what happened during that procedure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause, then a shrug. “More talking than I cared for.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” Judas laid down his fork with a sharp </span>
  <em>
    <span>clank.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He regretted his anxious reaction immediately when Jesus shrunk further into himself than he already had and his breathing grew suddenly laboured. With mounting anxiety, Judas stepped around the kitchen bartop that doubled as their dining table and put his hands on the trembling shoulders. At least this time Jesus didn’t pull away from his touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he kept whispering. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Desperation sharpened his voice.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“For what I’ve d – ” Jesus bit back his words and stood abruptly, walking away until Judas hand shot out and stopped him. “I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve asked James to drop me at my apartment.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be stupid. You only go there when we’ve been fighting.” The other part of him wanted to yell: </span>
  <em>
    <span>What </span>
  </em>
  <span>have</span>
  <em>
    <span> you done? What did you do that you won’t tell me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>There was a wall between them that he couldn’t breach, that he kept tearing down only to have it spring back up. He knew there was only so far he could push his boyfriend. Jesus could be infuriating when he decided the best thing to do was clam up and go silent. But Judas realised now it he could never love him less for it. He would face that wall a hundred times in the certainty that eventually, somehow or other, they would find each other again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except now that certainty was slipping away. And he wanted nothing more than to have it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should leave. It’s best for the both of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean best for me, not you.” Jesus looked like he was about to crumble on the spot. Judas refused to entertain the thought of him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally put his arms around Jesus, the latter let slip a dry sob and buried his face in Judas’ chest. The fingers that clung to his t-shirt spoke of an urgent need to be held without demands for an explanation he couldn’t or wouldn’t give. What could he do but oblige? It was a start, he told himself. The physical distance had been closed. There was only the matter of the silence and secrecy that would remain unstirred for now, like murky waters hiding some damnable truth that would either heal or destroy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood like that until Jesus started to wilt in his arms, and Judas noticed how strained and tired he looked. He insisted Jesus stay put on the couch and was met with minimal resistance. By the time he had fridged the leftover pasta and done the dishes, Jesus had fallen asleep while clinging to a throw pillow. Judas sank down beside him and noted with a heavy heart the traces of tears on the face that bore a small frown even in slumber. He picked up the book from the coffee table he was halfway through and stared at the page until he realised he had not read a single word. He scrolled mindlessly through his social media feed the way he scoffed at others for doing until he stumbled upon an Instagram post from a week ago. John – who ran the Instagram and Twitter accounts of the bookshop owned by James and Jesus – had posted a series of shots including one of Jesus in the midst of hiding behind a hardcover when John had aimed the lens at him, hoping to get a candid shot. The sunlight from a nearby window cast a pleasant sepia hue over the scene. Jesus’ lower face was hidden behind the book he was holding, but the eyes peeking over it were full of playful warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something cold coiled serpent-like around his guts at the stark contrast between the picture and the broken-looking man who had turned up at the door. He couldn’t just sit around and do nothing while pretending everything was as it had always been. Even if it seemed that was precisely what Jesus wanted. He paced for a bit more, reaching absently for his pack of Dunhills while texting Simon.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Do you want to tell me what the hell happened to you and Jesus, or should I come over and beat it out of you?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Simon was prompt to reply as always. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-You can come over and beat me. Just make it quick, I got an appointment later.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Very funny.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Half a minute passed before Simon started typing again.</span>
</p><p><span>-</span><em><span>We met up with Annas and Caiaphas. And their butt-licking git of an apprentice. Their company was egregiously</span></em> <em><span>boring. I don’t often use big words like ‘egregious’, but this seems like a good opportunity.</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Don’t fuck around. We heard about what you did to free James and the other two.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-But I do fuck around, my friend. Wouldn’t be capable of taking that much dick otherwise.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Judas took a deep drag and glared at some distant spot as he envisioned putting Caiaphas’ face through a wall until it was nothing but a bloody pulp.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-I’m sorry. About what happened.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-No harm done. Well, a little harm – scrapes and bruises heal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-I meant the other things, dipshit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Well. I did volunteer, though. Just so you know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Still fucked up beyond all reason.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers paused on the keypad. He couldn’t bring himself to ask what desperately needed asking. Simon, being marvellously intuitive at times like these, answered him anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Alright – confession time. Things got kinda rough during our meeting. I got into a tussle with the assholes, and Jesus tried to intervene. In case you’re wondering why he looked a bit messed up. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Oh really? Then why wouldn’t he just tell me that??</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-I don’t know, dude. Jesus is weird about things sometimes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Nice try. You’re a filthy liar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-I did try. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Judas wanted to call him, but he didn’t have the words to ask the questions he didn’t want to ask. With a trembling hand, he dragged the last of the smoke from his cigarette and went to the kitchen cabinet looking for something to calm his nerves with. He had emptied three quarters of a bottle of shiraz while mindlessly watching videos when he heard a frantic moaning from the sofa. Jesus was waking from what was evidently a nightmare, one that had caused a fresh bout of tears Judas already knew he would not reveal the source of. “It was nothing,” he gasped as he blinked to bring the waking world back into focus. “Just a weird dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “I can’t remember.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You just woke up from it and you can’t remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus wouldn’t say anymore. He wasn’t even trying to lie convincingly – not that he had ever been great at it. Judas sighed and tried to address more immediate problems. “Do you need something for your throat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your sore throat. You sound even worse than when you arrived.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be better by tomorrow. Nothing serious.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Judas tried a different angle. “I texted Simon just now. He told me – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus’ eyes widened before he could hide the dismay that briefly crossed his face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There it is.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Told you what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you got into a fight, during the negotiation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded almost too eagerly. “We did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>More lies. What are they trying to cover up? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Is that all you weren’t telling me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus wasn’t stupid; he knew the game was already up. But it seemed he would rather die than admit defeat. “Yes.” His jaw was stubbornly set, even if his fingers had started to twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell into a deep, unresponsive silence for the next two hours, lying blank-eyed on the sofa and drifting in and out of shallow sleep, not picking up his phone even when it buzzed with a string of messages. When Judas called him to bed, he followed in the manner of a somnambulist, having retreated into a state where nothing and no one could reach him.</span>
</p><p><span>At the very least, his sleep was peaceful – almost too</span> <span>peaceful. Only his faint breathing saved him from appearing dead the next morning when he did not stir or emit his usual whine when Judas got up and pulled the blanket from him. He finally showed signs of life when his boyfriend’s gentle prodding turned into a smack to his shoulder. “Are you going to work, or should I tell James you’re calling in sick?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Mmm.” Judas’ anxiety returned at the dead look in the eyes that blinked open with some effort. “No, it’s fine. I’m going.” He dragged himself listlessly from bed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll drive you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have t – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t a question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time since yesterday, he smiled. A small, crooked smile, but genuine nonetheless. Judas felt a sliver of relief as Jesus leaned into his chest and even initiated a soft kiss. He dared to hope that things would be alright, eventually.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Open sign was already gracing the door when they arrived. He brushed aside Jesus’ half-hearted protest and accompanied right into the bookstore. James greeted them with the same easy warmth he always had, even if the corners of his mouth tensed just slightly when he laid eyes on his colleague. He reached out and squeezed Jesus’ hand wordlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take care of him, will you?” Judas said in a low voice once Jesus was briefly out of earshot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No worries, man.” James loosely clasped his shoulder. “I’ll call you if…you know. If anything happens.” He nodded tersely and left, not wanting to think of what ‘anything’ might be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, nearly a week passed before it happened. Judas and his colleague were in the midst of negotiating the fortnight-long rental of one of their studios by an up-and-coming band when the phone call came. Seeing James’ name on his flashing screen filled him with instant dread. “What?” was all he could choke out as he answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you should come get Jesus,” said James, sounding uncharacteristically tense. “He’s, uh. He’s a bit of a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judas practically flew out the door, ignoring the exclamations of “What the fuck?” he left in his wake.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The reason for the phone call will be revealed in Chapter 4. (Sorry for the suspense, except not really)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a nice meaty chapter full of pain and tears. fair warning</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We apologize if there were details (especially in established relationships) along the way that we failed to explain. Much of the general character traits and existing dynamics is based on the AU birthed by Saffiaan's Groupchat fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24752191/chapters/59843461</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jesus had in fact been reasonably fine, if a little more scattered than usual, for a blissfully busy stretch of days that kept him and James occupied enough to make up for the odd stilted exchange they began each morning with. He had been functioning well enough – even making one or two uneventful trips to get them coffee when the kettle in the hidden corner that functioned as a tiny pantry broke down. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then at half-past four on a balmy Friday, a young man in a pinstriped suit entered the store. James guessed instinctively that he was not after their usual secondhand offerings; the shop also stored a few specialty items including rare editions in a separate section. Usually the customers looking for such things had a certain gleam in their eyes, a genuine eagerness at the prospect of treasures for a steal. This man had no such keenness. He merely looked around at the quaint interior with a vaguely condescending air before his gaze settled on the man behind the counter. That was when a smarmy smile spread across his imperious face like melting butter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How can I help you?” James greeted him, pushing aside his feeling of unease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been sent on the rather challenging task of locating the earliest edition of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas</span>
  </em>
  <span> I can find. Don’t suppose you can assist me there.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll ask my colleague to check. We just might have something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look very familiar,” the man remarked. For some reason this sent a faint chill down his spine. He called to Jesus, who was stocking a shelf in the biographies section. “Hey, J. Do we have any early or rare copies of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fear And Loathing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Let me go look.” Jesus disappeared into the back room as James fixed a perfunctory smile on his face. “I don’t recall meeting you before,” he replied to the last comment. “Maybe I just have one of those faces, huh? Don’t suppose I look like anyone famous.” He forced a chuckle.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know. You just might be infamous one day. Or know someone who is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhm. Sure.” James didn’t know what to say to that, and was relieved when someone approached the counter with a small stack of books for him to busy himself at the cash register with. He had just returned the customer’s change and waved goodbye when Jesus approached. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think we have any – ” Then his eyes went to where the smartly dressed man was standing, and all the blood drained from his face even as the other broke into a Cheshire Cat grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, well. If it isn’t a small world,” said Jonathan with feline triumph, his prey right before him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I do for you?” Jesus asked very quietly. His hands visibly tightened around the books he was holding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing you haven’t done already.” Jonathan ran his eyes all over Jesus in a way that made the latter’s face burn even as his knuckles turned white.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhm. Do you know each other?” James asked, stepping in front of his friend if only to break the smarmy stare. He already intensely disliked this man and wanted nothing more than to kick him out of the shop. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this angry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No we don’t,” Jesus declared tersely at the same time Jonathan answered, “We’ve been…well acquainted.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, really?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Your friend showed me a very good time, in fact. You could say he was most obliging. I look forward to repaying the favour someday.” He gave an obnoxious little wave and walked out of the shop with a jaunty strut.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as the door swung behind him, Jesus inhaled sharply, dropping the books with a loud thud. James turned to see him stiff and trembling, on the verge of tears. “Hey. You need a moment?” He quickly guided Jesus to their pantry area after plonking the sign on the counter that announced cheerfully, despite the fact that it was a quarter to five: </span>
  <em>
    <span>OUT FOR LUNCH. BRB!</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>James dragged up a chair that Jesus sank shakily into. He looked seconds away from hyperventilating as James rubbed his back, his own heart pounding with growing alarm. Jesus buried his flushed face in his hands and remained like that for a long while until James finally asked: “Should I call your boyfriend to come get you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus shook his head. “I don’t want him to worry. I’ll be fine.” His voice, rough with tears he was trying to hold back (with limited success), glaringly indicated otherwise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure?” When he got no further reply, he asked, in a gentler tone: “Don’t suppose you want to tell me about that shitbag who got you so upset.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus shook his head again, more adamantly this time. His breathing seized up again at the very mention of the man as more tears escaped his eyes and he gave up trying to hide them. James wanted to hug him, but he seemed to grow tense at any touch beyond a shoulder rub. He slowly stepped out from the secluded little corner, all too aware of the way Jesus wouldn’t stop shaking, and called Judas anyway.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>While waiting for the man to arrive, he texted Simon in between ringing up purchases.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Jesus had a sort of breakdown after some slimy jerk of a customer dropped by. I don’t know what to do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-He didn’t want me to call Judas to take him home, but I did it anyway. Hope he won’t be mad about it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Nah, you did the right thing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause before Simon resumed typing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-How did this slimeball look like?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Early twenties, kinda tall, blond. Wearing a suit. Jesus insisted he didn’t know him, but the guy said they’d been “well acquainted.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another pause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-GODDAMNIT.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is he??” James looked up to see Judas gripping the edge of the counter and looking slightly manic. He pointed the man to the pantry corner, wondering how many speeding fines he’d racked up to get here so fast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus had just poured out a glass of water and promptly spilt it everywhere when he was startled by Judas’ appearance. “I told James not to call you,” he said. But the misery on his strained face lifted as he leaned gladly into Judas’ fierce embrace. After a minute or so, he calmed down and the shivering stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t suppose I should bother asking what caused this meltdown,” Judas said drily, his ton utterly at odds with the tightness in his stomach. Jesus was saved from having to reply when James rounded the corner while gesticulating frantically as if the person he was a phone call with could see it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa, hang on! We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> committing murder. What, you’re gonna march in there without a plan and, and stab someone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both of them were taken aback; it was the most alarmed they had ever seen the usually gentle, unruffled James. “No, screw it – I don’t want you to have a plan. I don’t want you to get caught!” He took a deep breath and reverted to somewhere nearer his usual self. “Alright look, let’s go out tonight, OK? We’ll have fun, we’ll get drunk, and we’ll</span>
  <em>
    <span> not </span>
  </em>
  <span>kill anyone.” He paused as the person on the other end spoke. “Right. Cool. What, everyone? Including…” He glanced in Jesus’ direction. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Wait. Hang on, I’ll…Oh, come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The call ended; he threw up his hands in defeat.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m guessing that was your roommate on the other end,” said Judas. Mere seconds later, all three of their phones buzzed. It was a text from Simon to the group chat.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-LET’S GET WASTED. NO MORE SECRETS. Tonight at the Zoo, after 10.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No more secrets?” Jesus fixed his still-swollen eyes on James. “What did you – what did he say to you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. He just wanted to murder the shithead who harassed you earlier. I talked him out of it, though.” James was even worse at hiding the truth than Jesus; he was clearly holding a few details back, but he wasn’t lying either. “But I don’t know if a club is the best idea right now, given the…y’know…state of…things.” The Zoo was their nickname for the jungle-themed rave hotspot where James and Simon had first met, and a popular place for getting high enough to not regret the questionable hook-ups such clubs were known for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A flurry of texts were responding to Simon’s invitation, more than a few objecting to the venue of choice. A debate regarding alternative locations shot back and forth until Mary, the designated grown-up in such situations, made the final decision:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-We meet at Sid’s at 8:30 for dinner and drinks. Whoever’s planning to get wasted, please don’t drive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The simply named Sid’s was a neighbourhood pub a short drive from Mary’s house that was an all-day-breakfast bistro in the day and a happy hour joint after six. It was one of their regular hangouts, its mellow interiors adorned with posters of blues singers about as far as you could get from the raucous, hormone-addled atmosphere of the Zoo. After the strange air of secrecy and things unspoken pervading their lives to various degrees, the familiar ambience and a bartender who knew them by name provided a much-needed sense of normalcy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was the briefest moment of awkwardness when Jesus arrived with his boyfriend close behind. The chatter died down for a bit, turning into a murmur of strained greetings and downcast eyes. Then Mary stood, declared “You’re all being idiots” and threw her arms around him. Jesus returned the hug with a rush of gratitude, the exchange saying everything that words could not for now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ros, these two need some beers asap,” John called to the stout woman behind the bar. She winked in reply and sent two more bottles to their table along with a complementary heap of crisp homestyle fries. As they were halfway through the deliciously greasy potato wedges, they heard a holler all the way from the entrance. “Save some fries for me, will ya?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon’s appearance roused an immediate wave of greetings along the lines of “What happened?’ and “The fuck?” A couple of fresh bruises adorned his face along with a small cut on his lip, his gelled hair sticking out in wild disarray. James cut through their questions with a simple announcement: “Long story short, I tried to stop him. I failed. The blood on his t-shirt is mostly not his.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, dudes. Stop making a fuss.” Simon’s voice was flippant as he reached for a handful of fries and stuffed his mouth, possibly to delay answering further questions. But his eyes were hooded, steely, as if holding back a coming storm. As if by some unspoken agreement, everyone did not breach the topic – or ask any probing questions – until midway through several beers and many chicken wings and sliders. “You OK?” James said to Jesus in a low voice, a hand tentatively brushing his back. The small nod he got in return seemed to say: </span>
  <em>
    <span>For now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He nodded back, deriving some comfort from the easy smile that teased the man’s lips every so often at some humorous remark or other, the bookstore incident no longer haunting him. Or so James hoped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The phone call following the panic attack had enlightened him on the suited slimeball’s identity, at any rate. In between his roommate’s ranting, he had gleaned hints that the young man had been present at both negotiations, and had partaken in some very unsavoury acts that neither friend would elaborate on. The terrible possibilities kept creeping into the back of James’ head as he shut them down one by one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With some effort he focused instead on the topic at hand. Somehow or other, Simon’s continued refusal to disclose details of the fight he had just been in (all he would say was that it involved a minor car accident and the dispute that followed) had segued into an animated conversation about Peter’s recently acquired pet scorpion. Their debate on the ideal terrarium settings for small arachnids was interrupted by a roar of inebriated laughter from a party of seven who had just entered the pub and were asking Ros she was going to charge them a corkage fee for their half-full bottle of scotch.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they were settling into the adjacent table, one of them called Peter’s name. He looked up and recognition lit up his eyes. “Thomas?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This dude was just a kid when I knew him,” said the tall broad-shouldered Thomas to the group he introduced as his work mates, who grinned and waved at Peter. The latter couldn’t help noticing the way Simon was glaring at his ex-colleague; or rather, at the glass in his hand. “He was one of the brightest interns I ever knew,” Thomas continued, oblivious to the odd glare. “Bit too bright, really. Made some of us look bad…oh, shit – ”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stumbled over a chair leg and sloshed a bit of his whisky onto Simon’s jacket. “I’m so sorry – ” he began. He never got a chance to finish his apology. A feral blaze filled Simon’s eyes as he suddenly flew at Thomas and started pummelling him, causing the parties from both tables to spring up and attempt to break up the fight. Although it wasn’t much of a fight when Thomas – still too stunned to hit back – was on full defensive, throwing up his arms to ward off the smaller man’s blows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having the most experience in a brawl, Judas was the one to grab Simon’s arms and pull him away from Thomas. Simon didn’t stop his advancements on Thomas. If anything, he started thrashing even more. Judas tightened his grip on Simon’s arms while Mary, who had put herself between Simon and Thomas, put a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that was meant to calm him down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then all of a sudden, Simon stopped moving. Within a split second he had gone from frothing at the mouth to being entirely impassive, staring blankly at Mary. Mistaking the surrender as Simon coming to his senses, she started asking him: “What on earth - ?” James’ hand on her shoulder made hr pause.. It was only then that she realised Simon still hadn’t moved or acknowledged she had said anything at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Judas,” James said, his voice gentle despite an uncharacteristic sharp edge to it, “I think you should let him go.” Judas quickly released his grip, bewildered by the way Simon’s arms hung limply by his side. “Simon?” James lightly touched the back of Simon’s hand. Simon jerked away from the touch, panic and fear filling his eyes before they were covered by a hardened resolve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John and Peter had taken the earliest opportunity to check on Thomas, leaving only two people out of the fight. Matthew, a natural-born pacifist whose first instinct was to stay out of scenes involving that many flailing limbs, was the first to notice Jesus’ reaction to being hit with a few stray drops from Thomas’ whisky glass. His eyes had grown wide as the blood drained from his face and he grabbed a napkin to frantically wipe his hands and forearms, which kept shaking long after they were clean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew looked from Simon back to Jesus, realising the trigger they seemed to have in common. As Simon started apologizing profusely to the very bewildered Thomas, he slid close to Jesus and whispered: “You wanna talk about why a few drops of spilt single-malt set both of you off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus eyes’ only widened further, as if Matthew was a little too close to the truth. “It’s the smell of it,” he said at last, his voice barely audible.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about the smell?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head, shrinking away from Matthew, the relaxed warmth he had been filled with earlier all gone. His eyes darted to where Ros was berating the lot of them for starting a fight in the decent joint she ran and issuing a warning that she would kick them all out for behaving like hooligans. “This was a bad idea,” he muttered miserably. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it wasn’t. You were having a good time until the accident happened. Weren’t you?” But Jesus had gone into a withdrawn state, still wiping his hands as if trying to scrub off an invisible stain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matthew was no psychiatrist. But he had worked in hospitals long enough to have encountered patients whose wounds went beyond the physical. And both his friends’ erratic behaviour worried him. He already knew more than he’d ever wanted to of what Simon had done to save him, and James and Mary. He wondered what Jesus had done to save Simon in turn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had a feeling they would all find out before long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary had decided they should all head to her place for more beers and “for everyone to start talking properly.” By ‘everyone’ she really meant two people, but it was also the sort of occasion that would likely require a full support network.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surprisingly, Simon hopped on board the idea immediately. Jesus was starting to fumble for excuses when Judas cut in. “If he doesn’t want to, you can’t make him,” he said with a protective hand on Jesus’ waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright.” Mary’s voice was soft as she stared right at them. “We won’t make you do anything you don’t consent to, J.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bit his lip and struggled to meet her eyes, as if expecting to meet with prying judgment but finding only kindness. “She’s right,” he said to Judas. “I can’t keep lying to everyone forever. Especially not to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as they stepped into her house, Mary set about throwing every available cushion and beanbag into the centre of the living room. “It’s a good thing my parents let me have all their unwanted furniture when I moved out,” she had said the first time they visited her place. The furniture was a cheerful mismatch of colours, textures and styles that drove the aesthetically-driven John a little bit crazy. Without being prompted, James lit one of several joints and started passing it around as Peter distributed chilled bottles of lager. They smoked and drank and argued about things that didn’t matter until the inevitable could be put off no longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Simon,” Mary prompted. “You want to tell us about the incident with Peter’s old colleague?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon sat up as if he was just waiting for his cue. “Yeah. He looked like a bit of a tool. With the sort of face that needs punching.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary gave him a reprimanding look even as Peter came to Thomas’ defence. “He’s a perfectly nice – ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down, you know I’m fucking with you. It was the obnoxiously expensive scotch, alright?” After only a brief pause, he continued: “It smelt almost exactly like that shit Caiaphas and his jerks were swilling.” The name made Jesus stiffen visibly enough that nearly everyone noticed it. He instinctively drew closer to Judas, whose arm encircled him immediately.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would go into detail about that, but you all know the sordid story by now, don’t you?” Simon continued. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We know one half of the story,” she replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everybody made a rather obvious attempt not to look in Jesus’ direction, save for one. “Do you want me to tell them?” Simon asked him, his voice suddenly gentle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few seconds, Jesus nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. Everyone here knows I marched willingly into Caiaphas office volunteering to swallow some dick as a fair exchange – I use the word ‘fair’ very loosely – for the freedom of my friends, whose lives are beyond the measure of any number of dicks in my mouth.” A few of them cringed; and a few smiled at the sharp humour lacing his delivery. “Most of that exchange was…consensual, to a degree. Some of it was not. Taking one up my butt was not part of the deal. Nor was staying in prison for a whole night and day after. But maybe I should have read the fine print.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>James hugged him impulsively. “I’m so sorry, man.” There was an audible lump in his throat. Simon squeezed his hand and inhaled deeply before continuing: “Unfortunately, Jesus made the same mistake I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary’s eyes flickered to where Jesus was curled up on the same beanbag as his boyfriend. His gaze was now fixed on the floor, and his face was flushed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was a different location. A posh penthouse hotel suite. There were six to eight dudes in there; a real party, and we were the evening’s entertainment.” He wavered a little, growing sombre. “I was only brought into the room after Jesus had already taken two guys, including Annas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus’ laboured breaths filled the small living room as the first few sobs left his chest. Matthew sidled closer to hold one of his hands firmly. Judas looked ready to rip someone’s guts out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shortly after that, he was passed into the hands of a young, scum-sucking suit named Jonathan. The same one who earlier today – according to James’ first-hand account – happened to walk into the bookstore for some casual shopping, and encountered the very same man he had bent over a desk and…and…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped, unable to continue. Beside him, Peter was more enraged than anyone had ever seen him, his cheeks and neck a livid shade of dark pink. Matthew had tears streaming down his face as John held him tightly. Mary looked as if she half regretted this whole idea, crossing the space to crouch beside Jesus and rub his back as he buried his face in Judas’ chest. His whole body shook with the sort of terrible crying full of shame and loathing and deeply submerged hurt. Like a tidal wave that had been only waiting for its time, it burst forth in its full flagrant misery that washed over everyone present until finally subsiding enough for the bearer of the wretched tale to continue telling it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s not all they did.” Simon’s voice had lost its levity and taken on an awful weight. “To win our freedom…for both of us to walk out free, to be left undisturbed forever…I had to – ”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused to reach for James. The latter took his searching hand and clasped it tightly, even as dread filled his face. It was at this point that Jesus spoke for the first time, in a threadbare voice everyone heard nonetheless from the grim silence in the air. “He had to fuck me.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I did.” Simon glared down each one of them who met his eyes, daring them to condemn him. He would have taken their judgment, even cruelty or dismissal. But when he saw only his own pain mirrored in their faces, he broke down and seemed to fold inward on himself as James and Peter huddled to embrace him, shaking with hurt and anger themselves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now I know why you get into fights,” James whispered. “Maybe I would too, if I ever had to feel that…that helpless."</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, James, you wouldn’t.” Simon sniffled. “Because you’re a better person than I am. You always have been.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How can such people even </span>
  <em>
    <span>exist?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Mary whispered. “How can they be allowed to live?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My thoughts exactly.” It was the first time any of them save Jesus had seen Judas cry openly. Yet his voice was cold – cloaked by a numbness beyond pain, beyond rage, both of which had yet to make their full impact known. “Except they’re not people, are they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But they </span>
  <em>
    <span>are.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Matthew shuddered. ‘That’s the horror of it. That such humans exist.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary drew a shaky breath. When she spoke, her voice was steady. “No one is going to apologize tonight,” she said. “None of us are guilty of anything. Simon and Jesus were coerced into doing what they did.” She swiped at the tears streaming freely down her face. “I know it’s hard – I was one of the people to walk free thanks to what Simon did – and I’ve blamed myself ever since. But the blame stops here. It stop tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They nodded and fell quiet for a long while. There was little more to be said, after all. Somehow they found each other, drawing closer and closer until their arms were linked around Simon and Jesus in an embrace that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re in this together. To the very end.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic is kind of spinning out of control, where every time we write a chapter we come up with ideas for the next. Maybe the next chapter will actually be the last. Maybe it won't, who knows? (We for sure don't, these idiots have a life of their own)<br/>- Saff</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun had long since set by the time Jesus pulled up on the side of the bridge in his faded yellow Fiat. Simon’s request for his company had sounded more like instructions - asking, he sensed, would have made Simon feel more vulnerable than he was comfortable with. </p><p>It was only when Jesus reached the bridge, which was over a kilometre long, that he realised he should have requested a more specific location. Luckily, Simon was never one for subtlety, which made him hard to miss.</p><p>He parked behind the huge black motorcycle with the blinking hazard lights as Simon hailed him with a wave. The latter was perched precariously on the banister, just outside the beam of the nearest streetlight. It was a cool night, the wind hitting Jesus in the face once he left the shelter of his car. It smelt sweetly of distant rains. </p><p>“Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere less…illegal?” Jesus asked as he approached Simon, pushing his hair from his face. Simon looked up from the beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers with a small grin.</p><p>“Sure, but where’s the fun in that?” Simon gestured for Jesus to join him. Jesus glanced over the banister, where Simon’s feet were dangling far above the water. Too far for Jesus’ liking. But he figured if Simon - whom he knew hadn’t slept in at least forty-eight hours - didn’t fall off the bridge, he was unlikely to do so. Simon would make sure of that.</p><p>They looked out for each other now. More so than before.</p><p>The oncoming night soaked the sky in a deep indigo. City lights winked lazily from the distance, casting flecks of gold upon the water. They absorbed the view in a companionable silence, passing the bottle between them until a sharp wind caused Jesus to shiver and fold his arms to preserve some warmth. He should have brought his coat. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be hanging off a bridge with little in the way of shelter against the elements. He tried to brush aside the discomfort, but another gust of wind forced a second shiver through his body.</p><p>Without saying a word, Simon shrugged off the hoodie he was wearing and held it out to Jesus.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Jesus protested softly.</p><p>“You say that as if Judas wouldn’t kill me for giving you a cold,” Simon said. “Just give me back the beer.”</p><p>Jesus relented and pulled on the hoodie after exchanging it for the nearly empty bottle. The sleeves didn’t quite reach his wrists, Simon being a head shorter in size, but its warmth was most welcome. “Thanks.”</p><p>“I’m surprised you’re talking already.” A simple remark, with no need for explanation. Jesus wouldn’t have been able to give him one anyway. Ever since what happened, he had a tendency to go mute, sometimes for hours on end, without knowing why. The last lapse into silence had happened a mere hour ago; he had warned Simon of the fact when he received the text to join him on the bridge. But for whatever reason, the wall had lifted for the time being. Best to just enjoy the moment while it lasted.</p><p>Simon emptied the beer bottle and threw it in the river with more force than necessary, swaying a bit at the motion. Jesus’ hand shot out to grab his shoulder. “Do you want to drown?”</p><p>“Break every bone in my body, more likely,” Simon said, looking down at the river as if he was only seeing it now. “Which sounds like an incredible nuisance if you ask me.” Jesus smiled a little as he let go of Simon.</p><p>They fell quiet for what must have been at least a quarter of an hour, the silence broken only by passing cars. Jesus was the one to break it when his relaxed shoulders suddenly straightened. “I thought I saw…” He trailed off, his hands tightly gripping the metal of the banister. The name never left his lips, but it didn’t need to. Simon nodded in understanding. “It was just a man in a suit.” A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran through him. “I feel so stupid.”</p><p>“Join the club,” Simon said, gazing ahead. They had stopped telling each other that they were wrong in feeling stupid or ashamed for such things. There were enough other people to do that for them. “Hooked up with some businessman, or someone like that. Don’t remember any of it. And not in the good way.”</p><p>“Didn’t know there was a good way,” Jesus said lightly, deciding not to voice his concern for Simon’s dubious attempts at dealing with his ghosts.</p><p>“That’s because you need to get properly drunk, my friend,” Simon said. “Too bad I didn’t bring more booze with me.” Neither of them had the intention to get drunk on the edge of a bridge, but it was nice to pretend otherwise. </p><p>“I may have something better,” Jesus said, sliding off to cross the short distance to his car. He returned with a thermos and handed it to Simon, who sniffed its contents before grinning.</p><p>“Ahh, that’s some good coffee,” Simon said after taking a swig. “Jesus, you are the best thing to have ever happened to me.”</p><p>Jesus tried to smile, and failed miserably. “No, I’m not.” Simon returned the flask, and he wrapped his hands around it, letting his skin absorb the warmth. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been there. It was me they wanted.”</p><p>“Yeah; and if it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have gotten to you.” At this point it was a well-rehearsed bit of dialogue, where only the order differed from time to time. Sadly the words had not lost their weight with each exchange. Simon wrapped an arm around Jesus in a brief but heartfelt one-armed hug: “Alright, let’s stop this. If Mary were here she’d subject us to an hour-long lecture.”</p><p>Jesus let out a short chuckle and used the sleeve of Simon’s hoodie to wipe away the tears that had inevitably escaped his eyes. “I cry too much.” Some days it felt like he would never stop.</p><p>“Best to stay hydrated then.” Simon nudged the flask. Jesus smiled and drank from it,, letting the hot coffee warm him from the inside. “What? Scared Mary will lecture us about that too?”</p><p>“Nope. It’s John I’m afraid of.”</p><p>“What? Why John?”</p><p>“Because <em> apparently </em> when you don’t get enough fluids, it does things to your skin. He subjected me to a whole speech on skin care once. I do not need to hear it a second time.” Simon rolled his eyes and took another swig from the thermos as they both grinned at the thought of John’s preoccupation with his appearance.</p><p>In silence, they made their way through the remainder of the coffee. They got about halfway when they heard the faint sound of sirens approaching. Jesus felt panic claw at his throat and scrambled to get off of the barrier.</p><p>“I was starting to wonder if they’d show up,” remarked Simon, who slid off with much more grace and composure than his friend. At Jesus’ wide-eyed questioning look, he elaborated: “Someone must’ve reported us. Thinking we were gonna jump.”</p><p>“Oh.” Realisation sank in as Jesus recalled the bridge’s infamous reputation. Looking down at the waters below, he was struck with all manner of morbid thoughts until the sirens grew louder and brought his panic back to the fore. He didn’t understand how Simon could remain unbothered by the prospect of authority figures closing in when his own heart was racing. “Just drive away like you were never here,” Simon said, strapping on his helmet.</p><p>“What if they catch up?” Jesus realised he was fiddling with the hem of the hoodie, but couldn’t bring his anxious fingers to stop.</p><p>“They won’t,” Simon promised. He swung a leg over his motorcycle and kicked up the engine. There was a manic glint in his eye, which worried Jesus more than the sound of sirens. “They’ll be too busy chasing me down. And they won’t succeed.” Without another word, he sped off - in the direction of oncoming traffic no less, slipping easily in between cars. Jesus did his best to ignore his mounting anxiety as he drove away in the opposite direction. His knuckles turned white from his grip on the steering wheel. At least Simon had been right. The sound of sirens faded and disappeared before he left the bridge.</p><p>Once he was sure he was a good distance away, he parked by the side of the road and bent over in a wave of dizziness, fingers gripping the fabric of his pants as he tried his best to calm his breathing. After a little over five minutes, he received three texts from Simon.</p><p>
  <em> -Alright, properly lost them. Pretty sure I shook them off several minutes ago, but better safe than sorry, right? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ll let you know once I get home. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Well. After James is done lecturing me, but I’ll try to squeeze you in before that. </em>
</p><p>Jesus smiled despite himself. The image of James lecturing anyone, especially Simon, was simply too foreign. He typed a quick response.</p><p>-<em> Please don’t do that again. </em></p><p>
  <em> -Can’t promise anything. </em>
</p><p>Jesus took it as the honest answer that it was and put aside his phone, restarting the car to make his way back home.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-2 WEEKS LATER-</b>
</p><p>“I don’t know if this is the most responsible way of solving a problem,” Matthew said as he withdrew from the gate in front of Judas' house. “Or whether we’re creating a new one.” He looked all around in a slightly paranoid fashion that made John roll his eyes.</p><p>“You look like you’re committing a crime, for god’s sake. Come on.” He took Matthew’s hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”</p><p>“With a living creature involved? Many things.”</p><p>“Neither of them will be able to resist. Trust me.” John pouted mockingly. “Or do you think I’m a bad person?”</p><p>“I think you’re a wonderful person.” They kissed. “I just don’t know if…if they’re ready.” As if agreeing with him, a soft whine emerged from behind the gate. “Puppies and rainbows don’t miraculously heal people from trauma. Much as we wish it did.”</p><p>“Well, this is neither a rainbow nor a puppy. If nothing, it’ll give them something else to focus on.” </p><p>“It’s not a toy, John. Not something you can discard when it’s done being your therapy.”</p><p>“You’re not wrong. I just…” John sighed. “I seldom butt into relationship problems, but…two days ago we were hanging out together, and Judas said something that set Jesus off. He just disappeared into the bathroom for half an hour. We took turns nearly knocking the door down. When he finally emerged, he looked like he’d been crying.”</p><p>“Ouch.” Matthew winced. </p><p>His face darkened. “There are days when I think we should have let Simon kill those shitbags.”</p><p>“Don’t.” He shivered a little. “I can’t even think of anyone being locked up again.”</p><p>John pulled him in for a tight, reassuring hug. “Me neither. If anything like that happens to you again…”  He didn’t say more. He didn’t need to. Matthew savoured the embrace, cherishing the fact that his boyfriend was not the cuddly, touchy type with the seeming exception of one person: himself.</p><p>“Alright, they’ll be back any minute. I suggest we leave the scene of the crime.” John pulled him into the car and drove off. About ten minutes later, a dark blue Mazda pulled up in its place. As Judas was hauling groceries from the back seat, a sharp plaintive mewing drew his attention. Thinking he must have imagined it, or that the neighbour had gotten a new cat, he paid it no heed until he was at the door and something small and furry demanded his attention. “What the hell…?” </p><p>The kitten was mostly white with a large black splotch over the lower half of its torso, and another over its right eye. It stared at him and mewed loudly. The more he backed away, the closer it came, until it was practically sitting on his foot. He managed to dislodge it but did not succeed in shooing it off. “We’re not looking to adopt right now. Go find someone else.” It fixed its wide grey-green eyes on him as if trying to persuade him otherwise. He did his best to ignore it and very cautiously closed the door, making sure it hadn’t managed to slip in.</p><p>Jesus had dozed off on the sofa, a book loosely cradled in his hand. He woke at Judas’ presence. “Did you remember to get eggs?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>“Two cartons.” Judas decided not to mention the appearance of the stray, but was spared the trouble of having to hide the fact when a few minutes later, there was a faint scrabbling at the door. “I’ll get that – ” he said a few seconds too late. Jesus made a cooing sound as he lifted the kitten into his arms. “Look what I found on the doorstep!” His face was the most radiant Judas had seen it since… He shook his head, refusing to dwell on things best left behind.</p><p>“We are not keeping it.”</p><p>The radiance dimmed only slightly. “We should at least make sure she’s not starving.” He was stroking the kitten behind its ears, eliciting a purr of approval.</p><p>“And what do you suggest we feed it?”</p><p>“We have a bit of chicken left in the fridge. From the deli.”</p><p>“That was supposed to be for the salad thing you were planning.”</p><p>He shrugged. “I can make something else.” A small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth as his fingers brushed over the small ears, all his attention wrapped up in the tiny bundle of fur. Judas had to admit it was a sight for sore eyes. </p><p>“We’re not keeping it, so please don’t name it.”</p><p>Jesus made a noncommittal sound of vague agreement as he filled a shallow bowl of water for the kitten. Within the span of ten minutes, he appeared to have dedicated a large part of his energies to ensuring the cat was not only well fed, but utterly at home on the heap of pillows that was its bed now. “You’d better make sure that thing doesn’t have fleas.”</p><p>“She’s not a <em> thing. </em> Don’t call her that.”</p><p>The fact that he came close to pouting secretly amused Judas; even made his heart skip a little. The part of him that wasn’t perpetually irked by Jesus’ tendency towards petulance found it strangely endearing, and he had to suppress the urge to give in to his boyfriend’s latest whim. “Did you post those pictures already? Or should I ask in the group chat if anyone wants to adopt a cat?”</p><p>Jesus bit his lip. “I was thinking we should keep her for a day. Just to make sure she doesn’t have any health problems.”</p><p>“She’s a stray. It’s part of the package. Likely a whole colony of parasites, half of which are now swarming over the furniture.”</p><p>“She seems clean enough. And I’ll have her dewormed first thing tomorrow.”</p><p>“Which will cost you.”</p><p>“You think I don’t know that?”</p><p>Judas snorted. “Just seems rich coming from someone who can barely afford new shirts.” It was common knowledge among the friends that Jesus would wear his shirts to fraying if Judas didn’t buy him new ones occasionally. (It was still a rung above James’ level, who had run out of underwear last month before Simon gifted him a set for his birthday.) Still, pointing out the fact earned Judas a bout of sulking, which was assuaged by a hand on the back of Jesus’ neck, followed by a prolonged kiss. Jesus hummed with pleasure as he leaned into Judas wandering hands. It was only when Judas’ tongue slipped past his lips that he stiffened and pulled back.</p><p>“What is it?” Not that he needed an answer; he guessed about two seconds after Jesus lowered his eyes and struggled to hide his trembling hands. Despite every effort to block out such thoughts, Judas was haunted by the terrible image of someone forcing their tongue (among other things) between the same soft lips he would die rather than never get to kiss again. “Someday I’m going to gut each and every one of those scumbags,” he said softly.</p><p>“Please don’t.” The shadows that haunted Jesus’ face less often these days flickered briefly in his eyes. “I can’t bear the thought of you getting in trouble, or – or – ” His hands were steady now, but still cold as they brushed Judas’ arms. His voice dropped to a whisper. “If they ever did the same to you…I couldn’t bear it. I just couldn’t.”</p><p>Judas only nodded. Except it wouldn’t be the same, would it? He knew those despicable men would not torment him any more than they needed to as leverage. He had guessed their enjoyment in attempting to break Simon had been similarly limited. There was an indefinable quality about Jesus neither of them had: something stubbornly pure and good, that made itself known in the set of his mouth and the flame in his eyes when he knew he was doing the right thing; the willful yet generous, strangely naïve, obstinate, loving temperament. All those things he was in love with were precisely what they had sought to break. And he had never even known it could be broken until he had seen it nearly shattered when Jesus had stumbled through the gate on that terrible evening, his eyes devoid of light and of life.</p><p>Shaken by the memory that roused a vile tangle of emotions he had yet to process (and would need to stare in the face someday, painful as it would be), Judas pulled Jesus into his lap and held him the way he needed to be held. They remained in each other’s arms until the kitten – tired of being ignored for all of ten minutes – jumped up onto Jesus’ thigh and demanded the same level of affection. Judas tried to put her back on the floor against Jesus’ protests. “She’s not allowed on the sofa until she’s free of bugs,” he insisted. With a whine and an adoring look that Judas refused to return, she curled around his foot instead.</p><p>“Oh, come <em> on. </em>”</p><p>The kitten rubbed her head against his leg before settling firmly in her position. She didn’t move for the next fifteen minutes. And neither did Judas.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>James was grinding above Simon, his face buried between Simon’s shoulder blades, where he nipped at the skin. He let his fingers trail over Simon’s sides in delightful anticipation, and got...nothing. He sat up a bit, looking at the back of Simon’s head. “Simon?” Still no reaction. A lump of ice settled in his stomach, turning him cold with dread. He slid out of Simon and rolled him onto his side.</p><p>A blank stare met him. The same one that had settled on Simon’s face more than once the past few weeks - just never in situations like this. James felt himself grow even colder as he tried to figure out how long Simon had been like this. How long had he been fucking Simon against his will? How long had he been panicking? James knew that such states weren’t necessarily triggered by panic. But he sincerely doubted that was the case this time. Especially since Simon still hadn’t snapped out of it.</p><p>James slid off of the bed, thinking he might just get sick if he spent another second considering what he had done. Not that he could stop, of course. He blindly grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, pulling them on while he made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass of water, ignoring that his hands were shaking slightly. The water soothed his inside a little, even if he still felt a chill down to his fingers.</p><p>After a few minutes, he heard movement from the bedroom. His stomach unclenched, taking some of the nausea in his throat with it. Another couple of minutes passed before the bedroom door finally opened. The sound of Simon’s footsteps announced his arrival in the kitchen. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, James being the first to speak up. </p><p>“Were you ever going to tell me to stop?” </p><p>He hadn’t meant to ask that, nor to sound as accusing as he did, but the question had been hovering at the edge of his mind for a while now.</p><p>“No,” Simon answered defensively. The hardness in his voice proved James had hit a sore spot. “Why would I do that when I don’t <em> want </em> you to stop?”</p><p>James gave him an incredulous look, which Simon ignored in favour of fishing a bottle of soda from the fridge. “So you just panicked and zoned out because you were enjoying yourself?” He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter.</p><p>“I didn’t - ” Simon began. James stopped him before he could finish the lie.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you didn’t panic,” James said. “You’re not obliged to explain anything, but please, don’t lie to me.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Simon avoided James’ eyes, his fingers tapping on the neck of the soda bottle.</p><p>Eventually, Simon said: “I didn’t <em> mean </em> to panic. It just happened. But I didn’t want you to stop.” He looked up at James, steely determination in his eyes.</p><p>James uncrossed his arms, letting out a soft sigh. “Simon, you can’t keep doing this. Pushing yourself like you’ve been doing. I get the fights, I think. But you have to stop pushing through things that clearly make you uncomfortable. I don’t think you’re doing yourself any favours.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do.” Simon’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh now, every word carved from marble.</p><p>“Well, someone has to, before you go too far and hurt yourself.” James’ worry and fear emerged as anger. He knew his words had come out wrong when the flickers of emotion on Simon’s face were pushed behind a steel wall.</p><p>“If I wanted an overbearing boyfriend, I would have let you know,” Simon said, clearly with the intent to hurt. It stung a little, if only because Simon apparently wanted to hurt him. He silently regretted pushing Simon into a corner where he felt he needed to lash out, but they were too far gone now to turn back. “But as it happens, I don’t. So stay out of it.”</p><p>“I don’t need to be your boyfriend to be worried about you,” James said softly, pushing away any hurt to focus on the problem at hand.</p><p>“Do so in silence, then.” Simon bit back. His fingers dug into the soda bottle, crushing the plastic.</p><p>“I’ve done so for several weeks and I don’t think it’s helping you. More the opposite.”</p><p>“Right, because you’re suddenly the expert on these things,” Simon snarled. “When’s the last time you had to choose between betraying one friend, having three spend the rest of their lives locked up or swallowing the dicks of people you hate, knowing they will misuse the situation, still underestimating how much they will do so?” Simon dropped - or rather, threw - the plastic bottle on the ground, glaring at James.</p><p>“Have you ever had someone pound into you without mercy, without even the illusion of consent, knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop him? You can’t even swear or scream, because any sound will cost your friend his freedom and you can’t risk that. So you just lie there, swallowing your panic and pain, and you wait for it to end and it doesn’t. It just doesn’t.” Simon’s voice broke. He had started shaking at some point, anger giving way to  raw pain. James wanted to hug him, to offer any kind of comfort, but whenever he took a step towards Simon, the latter drew back. “Have you ever watched your friend getting raped and abused, knowing it’s your fault? Knowing if you had been a bit smarter, he would be safe? Knowing you should be able to stop it or at the very least help, but you can’t? Have you ever had to<em> rape </em> one of your <em> best friends? </em>”</p><p>Simon’s last words dissolved into sobs and he curled into himself, crouching on the floor, fingers digging into his skull. James sat down in front of him, not knowing what to say. He had known Simon was hurting; of course he did. He simply hadn’t quite understood the sheer breadth and depth of it. But then, it seemed, neither had Simon. He was spared from fumbling for the right words when Simon finally said, in a very small voice: “I don’t know what to do, James.”</p><p>“I don’t know either.” James gently took Simon’s hands to prevent him from ripping out his hair. “But, Simon...I don’t think this is the way to go about it. You’ve been raped.” He hadn’t missed how Simon only used the term when referring what had happened to Jesus, not to himself. “You can’t just brush that off, no matter how much you might wish otherwise.”</p><p>He wrapped his arms around Simon, who let himself fall against James without hesitation. James held him close, as if he could protect him from harm long done. “You’ll get through this and you don’t have to do it alone. So please don’t try.” </p><p>In response, Simon only pressed himself closer to James to draw what comfort he could, spilling the memory of pain onto the kitchen tiles.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's a long climb out of hell. But the exit is finally in sight.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had felt the signs for some time now. A hopeful touch, a hand sliding beneath the edge of his shirt, a kiss that lingered just a few seconds longer than it usually would. He had always been the clingy one of the two. And it made him ache to see the same acts mirrored by his beloved, only for something inside him to pull away like fingers from a flame.</p><p>He wanted to reciprocate – he feared that eventually his continued refusal would drive Judas into the arms of another, even if only for a night, for an hour. He found the possibility of Judas being intimate with someone else to be unbearable. Not for some violation of undying fidelity, but for the implication that he was no longer capable of giving something that the man he loved would have to seek somewhere else.</p><p>And he hungered for Judas as much as the other way round; perhaps more. He <em> wanted </em>to be touched without the memory of pain and shame and being used like a plaything. And so, at the end of an evening laced with just enough wine to make him rash, he leaned fully into the hands that gripped him perhaps a little too possessively for comfort and let the right sounds spill from his lips that Judas knew to be signs of encouragement.</p><p>His hands shook only a little as he shed his clothes. He fixed a smile on his lips so the tremors would be mistaken as excitement. (“Are you sure about this?” “Yes. Please, yes.”) He was still smiling as Judas pressed him into the pillows and he felt the familiar sensation of being breached, except this time it was wrong, all wrong – </p><p>Annas’ mocking high-pitched lilt. Caiaphas’ commanding baritone. The taste and smell of fine whisky. Jonathan’s hands pinning him down, Jonathan’s cock splitting him open. Some nameless man’s sex filling his throat and making him retch. Judas’ lips were on his. Judas’ tongue invading his mouth, forcing him open as they all had, each one of them taking their turn, and among them his beloved. <em>No,</em> <em>please, no.</em> No. Simon straddling him, thrusting gently and steadily, his face devoid of expression. <em>No.</em> He clung on tight in a hopeless pretence at desire, willing the nightmare to go away. <em>NO.</em> He kept his eyes wide open, but still he saw Caiaphas leering at him, violating the sanctity of the room and choking every sliver of hope from him. Simon’s bruised face above him, each bruise and cut a reminder of what he himself had been subject to. <em>No.</em> Judas’ hand in his hair. Jonathan pulling his head back. A steel barrel pushed into his neck, into his mouth. Reminding him of his place. A place he would never leave. A place inside his head, inside that plush carpeted suite, that smelt of expensive cologne and unspeakable things that stained him and lay buried inside and that he would never wash out –</p><p>He finally lost control of his convincing performance when Judas spilt deep inside him (his spend mingling with that of Jonathan’s, of Simon’s, one bleeding into another). An act of love that felt like rape.</p><p>From a distance he heard Judas calling his name. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He must have driven Judas into a sufficient state of panic to warrant a hard slap across the face, the shocking sting of which finally brought him to his senses. </p><p>“What happened?? I thought you were dying!” Judas was cradling his face, helping him sit upright. The bedroom came back into focus as he fought the urge to throw up.</p><p>“I-I don’t know.” He was shaking from head to toe, awash in cold sweat. “I c-can’t stop…” He could breathe again, except now his lungs insisted that the only way to fill them was with great painful gasps that drove uncontrollable shudders through his frame. Judas pulled the blanket around his shoulders in the hope of abating the shivers, his own face pale and rigid with worry. Only when the hyperventilating finally ceased did the tears start to flow. “Not again,” he murmured, a short humourless laugh cutting through the sobs. <em> Why can’t I stop crying? When will it stop? </em></p><p>Judas was as sharp as ever; sometimes Jesus wished he were less so. “You didn’t really want it, did you?”</p><p>He raised his eyes briefly to meet that penetrating gaze, the one that always saw right through him, and found he couldn’t bear to be exposed. “I thought I could…that if I tried to…to take it…”</p><p>“Tried to take it? Like you tried to take those other men – ?”</p><p>“Don’t <em> say that!” </em>A sudden flare of anguish overtook him, and he pushed Judas away with strength he didn’t know he had. The latter landed on the floor and rose up unhurt, physically at least. All the hurt was concentrated in his eyes. </p><p>“You allowed me to force myself on you.” </p><p>“It’s not forcing yourself if I allowed it,” he whispered. Judas shook his head in disbelief, in horror at what he had done.</p><p>“I swore I would never do anything close to what those…pieces of dirt had done to you.” His fists kept clenching unconsciously, which made Jesus wince. “I swore I would never hurt you. And you made…you let me become someone I’m not.” </p><p>“<em> You </em> wanted it.” His voice was an ugly, rage-filled thing that sounded repulsive to his own ears. He grabbed Judas’ arm. “I gave you what you wanted.” The rage turned to desperation as Judas slipped through his fingers no matter how tightly he held on. “I was afraid you would leave.”</p><p>“Do you really think so little of me?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You think I’m like the men who, who <em> used </em>you – ”</p><p><em> “Don’t – " </em> </p><p>“ – and I’d throw you away when you couldn’t <em> satisfy </em> me anymore?”</p><p>“Stop it!” He clamped his hands over his ears. </p><p>“That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?” </p><p>“I don’t…” He bit his trembling lip until it nearly bled. “I don’t know. I just wanted you to...to be happy.” <em> At least one of us deserves to be happy. </em></p><p>“How long would you have let me keep doing it?” Judas asked quietly, after a long while.</p><p>Jesus had no answer to give. He could no longer face him, could no longer speak, looking away as he pulled his knees to his chest. Pain poured forth from his every pore in a seemingly endless stream even as his tears ran dry and he stared at the floor until his eyes hurt. He felt a hand brush his thigh and stiffened; he felt so tender and brittle that the slightest touch was unbearable. A dreadful silence fell between them until Judas pulled on his pants and left the bedroom, neither of them knowing how to undo the damage that had torn something fragile and newly formed, not knowing if the freshly torn rift would ever heal.</p><p>~ </p><p>Hey You stared accusingly at him. Judas glared back as he leaned against the gate, letting the night-chilled rungs press into his bare back as if hoping it could distract him from the fact that he had fucked up terribly.</p><p>He lit a cigarette, needing whatever small sliver of comfort it could give. Hey You continued fixing her grey-green eyes on him. The moniker had stuck when, after a week of pretending like they hadn’t already decided to keep her, Judas’ regular utterances in the vein of “Hey, you. Get off my foot” had resulted in her responding to the address despite the long list of suggested names in the group chat once word got out about their newly acquired furball. </p><p>“What do you want me to do? Travel back in time so I can murder those assfucks before they ruin everyone’s lives?” Hey You gave a long, expressive meow that was surprisingly robust for a creature her size. “I messed up, alright? He’s probably more hurt than before, and I – I don’t know what the fuck to do.” </p><p>Another meow. “<em> You </em> talk to him, then.”</p><p><em> Great. I’m talking to a goddamn cat. </em>He exhaled a long trail of smoke that curled blue-grey in the moonlight before dissipating the way words could not. Nothing they did or said could erase the things he had thoughtlessly uttered in trying to figure out his own mess of emotions, all the unpleasant things he had let fester inside him in an effort to give Jesus room to heal.</p><p>You<em> wanted it. I gave you what you wanted. </em>The accusatory words in a rage-distorted voice he had never heard before still reverberated like shockwaves through him. Had the terrible things Jesus experienced changed him that deeply? And had he failed to read the signs of reluctance, of silent suffering that had turned his own enjoyment into an act of violence? </p><p>Some previously unbreakable sense of trust between them had been shaken. Jesus rejecting his touch the way he had not done since the fateful day he had returned from his ordeal, broken and dead-eyed, was painful beyond words. They had fought so hard to get this far. He had seen his beloved struggle to become more than a shell of himself; to take back what had been stolen from him. And in the space of minutes, so much of that work had been undone.</p><p>He returned to the bedroom to find Jesus curled tightly around a pillow, looking like a lost child, lovely even in his wrecked state. Judas tucked the blanket securely around his shoulders and left him there. He tried not to think of the many nights preceding this one in which Jesus clung to him in sleep, needing the assurance of closeness – especially in those moments where he awoke whimpering from the remnants of a nightmare. The arms around his chest and the softness of Jesus’ hair, the soft breathing against his skin, had become a source of comfort for him as much as the other. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in Jesus’ arms tonight. </p><p>Instead he found himself replying overdue work emails until his eyes finally blurred and he nodded off on the sofa. He awoke some time during the early predawn to find Hey You had managed to sneak into his lap, drawn to the warmth of his laptop. “Get off,” he said half-heartedly. He laid his laptop aside, hoping the kitten would follow, but she seemed very content to remain where she was. </p><p>He could have scooped her off his thighs and onto the floor where she belonged. And he did at first, partly because he wanted to reach for the throw blanket on the nearby armchair. As soon as he spread it over himself, Hey You clambered right back onto his lap and settled into indent made by a fold in the thick fabric. He rolled his eyes and left her there. “You should keep my boyfriend company, you know. He’s the reason you’re here.” He nudged her with a shift of his knee, a gesture that went ignored. “Where’s your gratitude?”</p><p>She mewed at him, and yawned rather adorably. </p><p>It took a long time for him to fall asleep. Just before the weight of slumber finally claimed him, he felt a small furry warmth slide beneath the blanket and onto his chest. “Go away,” he muttered, his hand between her soft ears.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>-<em>You still need to come and meet Hey You. </em></p><p>Simon looked up from the movie he had been watching to the text he received from Jesus. It was a thinly veiled request for Simon’s company, but since Simon had done the same on numerous occasions, he had no right to comment on it. He simply sent back a quick text while he turned off the TV.</p><p>
  <em> -About time. I’ll be there in a few minutes. </em>
</p><p>About ten minutes later, he pulled up in front of Judas’ house in his flashy black and red RX-8. He walked up to the building, but the door opened before he got a chance to ring the bell. Judas walked out, looking surprised and slightly annoyed to see Simon.</p><p>“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” he asked, but made no move to close the door behind him.</p><p>“Nope,” Simon said cheerfully. Judas rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Don’t break anything while I’m gone. I won’t be long.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t dare,” Simon said as if things didn’t have a tendency to break whenever he was near. He completely ignored the fact that there might be some causality between those two things.</p><p>Judas grunted and walked away. Simon took this as his cue to enter the house, and heard Judas’ footsteps stop behind him. He turned around to see the latter looking past him into the living room with anxious concern. “Just… keep an eye on him, please. He isn’t talking.”</p><p>“Of course.” To be honest, he had already expected that, considering the sudden message. Judas nodded and hesitated before walking away.</p><p>Simon walked in, hoping he wouldn’t have to search the house since the man wasn’t responding verbally at the moment. Luckily for him, Jesus was sitting on the living room floor, Hey You climbing over his legs.</p><p>“Okay, she’s adorable,” Simon decided. He sat down across from Jesus, reaching over to stroke the kitten’s fur.</p><p>‘You say that as if you were still unsure of it before,’ Jesus signed. Once it had become apparent that Jesus’ bouts of muteness weren’t going anywhere, they had learned sign language to make life easier. A skill they hadn’t shared with any of their friends, nor something they had informed them of. The looks of confusion they got whenever Simon knew what Jesus wanted to say without a word spoken between them were simply too amusing.</p><p>“I was,” Simon said, watching as the kitten curiously rubbed her head under his knee, attempting to fit herself in the nonexistent space between his leg and the floor. “Pictures can be very deceiving. You could have photoshopped her.”</p><p>‘Why would I do that?’</p><p>“To make her look more adorable. Obviously.” Hey You gave up her attempts to cram herself into an impossible spot and instead climbed on Simon’s lap. She nuzzled his stomach and started pawing at the zipper of his jacket.</p><p>Jesus gave him a long look, which Simon replied to with as innocent a smile as he could muster. Jesus rolled his eyes, but Simon didn’t miss the grin that worked itself on his face before he ducked his head.</p><p>Hey You, after having thoroughly inspected Simon’s lap and torso, used his arm to climb up to his shoulders. She laid down there, her tail curling around the back of his neck. He reached up to scratch her behind her ears, receiving a loud purr in response.</p><p>‘How do you do it?’ Jesus signed, a gesture Simon would have missed if he hadn’t been watching Jesus out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and shot Jesus a questioning glance. Jesus gestured hopelessly with his hands, clearly unable to sign what he meant. Eventually he tapped the side of his neck, after which he pointed at Simon’s neck. Simon frowned and slid his fingers over the side of his neck. He suddenly remembered the trail of faded hickeys down his throat, left there by James mere days ago. It inevitably reminded him of the breakdown that had followed. His fingers curled against his skin before he dropped the hand.</p><p>“I don’t recommend it,” was all Simon said, well aware that he wasn’t really answering the question. “What happened?”</p><p>A moment’s hesitation followed before Jesus signed: ‘I tried.’</p><p>“Didn’t go too well, I take it?” Simon asked, though he already knew the answer. Jesus looked down at his hands, his face scrunching up as tears gathered in his eyes. He shook, confirming Simon’s suspicion. Simon reached over to squeeze Jesus’ hands. Hey You jumped off of his shoulder and into Jesus’ lap, curling up there.</p><p>“You’ll get there,” Simon said softly, but he knew he lacked certainty in his voice. He wished he could promise Jesus that he’d be fine. That they’d both be fine. But he didn’t know that. He could only hope.</p><p>Jesus looked up at Simon with a rather fragile determination and signed: ‘No, I want to do it now. If you can do it, so can I. So please tell me how you did it. I need to know.’</p><p>“Jesus, listen to me,” Simon said, fighting to keep his voice calm, “the first time I fucked James, I saw you. The only reason I managed to convince myself it wasn’t you because I was kissing him the entire time. The second time I ran off as soon as he was asleep. I have yet to suck off him, or anyone else for that matter, without tasting Jonathan or Annas.” Even now, he could almost taste them again. “The only reason I can comfortably do some shit now is because I ignored it when I couldn’t do it. And there are still more things that I can’t do than that I can. It doesn’t work, Jesus, don’t hurt yourself trying.”</p><p>Jesus nodded, looking back down at his hands again. He shook a little as he signed: ‘I’m sorry.’</p><p>“Don’t be.” Simon leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Jesus. Hey You let out an indignant mewl from where she was squished in between them. Simon let go of Jesus and looked down at the kitten, scratching her between her ears as he turned on the TV, hoping to distract his friend. The opening of a familiar old movie came to the rescue. “Wanna watch Back to the Future with me?” Jesus nodded and picked up Hey You, carrying her to the couch. She curled up immediately in his lap.</p><p>Once Simon had joined them, Jesus immediately nestled himself into Simon’s side. Simon really wasn’t the cuddly type (hugs and cuddles were two very different things in his opinion), but this one time he didn’t mind at all. Especially since Jesus clearly needed the closeness.</p><p>Halfway through the movie, the door to the living room opened, admitting Judas. Jesus had fallen asleep a while ago, his head resting against Simon’s stomach. The kitten was curled up contentedly on his lap. Judas looked at them with poorly hidden jealousy before he sat down on an empty chair. The intensity with which he stared at his boyfriend made even Simon a bit uncomfortable. He suppressed the urge to pull Jesus closer, knowing it to be an irrational one.</p><p>Neither of them spoke until Simon could no longer ignore his growing discomfort. “Alright, cut it out.”</p><p>He looked up in surprise, as if he had forgotten Simon was even there. “What?”</p><p>“Your staring,” Simon said. “Please tell me you don’t make a habit out of it. It’s enough to make anyone feel awkward.” He glanced from Jesus back to Judas. Judging by the curses he muttered under his breath, he got the hint.</p><p>“How come <em> you’re </em> doing fine – well, better anyway – and he’s still…” Judas gestured hopelessly at Jesus before dropping his hands.</p><p>“Judas, I had a complete breakdown on the kitchen floor four days ago,” Simon said dryly, ignoring the surprised look he received. “I’m doing neither fine nor better. And your staring is making <em> me </em>uncomfortable.” Admitting any of those things out loud was harder than he liked it to be. The fact that Judas looked like he had been hit, didn’t make it much better.</p><p>“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Judas muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. </p><p>“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Simon looked down at Jesus, who was still asleep and blissfully unaware of the conversation playing out over his head. Hey You shifted on his lap and blinked at the other two men before resuming her nap. “Just…Maybe give that whole ‘patience’ thing everybody is always talking about a try.”</p><p>Judas groaned. “It should have been easier. Now that we...now that I know what happened.” </p><p>“Except you don’t know shit.” Simon met his defensive glare. “All I told you guys is what happened. Not the unpleasant details – it was too soon, back then.” He sighed. “You have no clue what I experienced, let alone what Jesus did.”</p><p>The haunted look in Judas’ eyes suggested he had imagined plenty. “He still refuses to talk about it. And I’m not going to push him to do something he doesn’t want to.”</p><p>“Understandable, but that begs the question if he doesn’t want to talk about it or if he doesn’t want you to realise that you’re wasting your time and that he isn’t worth it.” Simon knew he really had no right to inform Judas about Jesus’ insecurities like this, but he also wasn’t going to sit around and watch Jesus get hurt if he could help it. </p><p>“Fuck,” Judas muttered. “What makes him think I would do that? Why would he…?” He sighed and stood up from the chair. “I’m getting a drink.”</p><p>Simon let his gaze slide back to the TV screen and the commercial break interrupting the movie. He rolled his eyes at the wide-eyed cheer of the smiling lady extolling the benefits of lavender-scented detergent. While scrolling mindlessly through his social media feeds, not really seeing or hearing much of anything, a far too familiar voice made him snap back to attention. </p><p>He felt his heart seize up at the news segment preview featuring the man whose presence still haunted his existence, the back of his brain where he pushed the things he could not help into a tight little box. Caiaphas was grinning confidently, his appearance as immaculate as always, his noxious presence pervading the living room. Simon could almost smell his cologne. He felt Jesus jerk awake at the sound of the voice; Hey You mewled at the movement and slipped off the couch.  </p><p>Jesus could not tear his eyes from the screen. The smallest whimper escaped his lips. They shared a quick glance, raw terror reflected in their eyes. </p><p>For a while they both sat frozen on the couch. Even after the new preview ended, they barely moved – until Judas returned with a bottle of amber liquid. Simon’s head snapped up. He fixed a steely gaze on Judas, on the bottle in his hands. Judas stared back, puzzled at his reaction, before diverting his immediate attention to Jesus. The latter had curled in on himself, staring blankly. His face was frozen in terror.</p><p>“What happened? Jesus?” He moved towards his boyfriend. But Simon shot up and pushed him back with surprising strength. Judas stumbled and fell back against the wall, dropping his bottle. The shattering of glass was followed by the scent of rum pervading the air.</p><p>“Don’t touch him,” Simon growled.</p><p>“Simon…” He held out his hands. “I don’t know what the hell happened – ”</p><p>“Stay back!”</p><p>“ – but I’m not going to hurt him.”</p><p>“I <em> said </em>stay back!!”</p><p>Judas was as bewildered as he was desperate to get to Jesus, who was so rigid with fear he looked like he would snap in two any moment. “Why are you...What do you <em>think</em> I’m gonna do?"</p><p>In response, Simon lunged at him. He managed to move just enough that the latter’s attack did not have the full intended impact, but the man had the strength of someone who had stepped off the brink of sanity. They ended up locked in a tussle where Simon’s arms stayed coiled python-like around him, throwing him off balance. They wrestled for several more seconds until he gained enough leverage to throw his full weight against the smaller man. The two of them fell onto the coffee table; there was the sound of breaking wood as the aging, brittle tabletop gave way beneath their combined force.</p><p>The sufficiently painful sensation of being thrown into a slab of wood finally shook Simon from his mindless wild-eyed rage. “Shit, man,” he murmured, blinking as if he had been possessed and was just now realising what had happened. In any other situation,  Judas would have done much more than throw a string of curses at him; but as it was, his priorities were elsewhere. He knelt by the sofa and cradled Jesus’ face, his hands, trying to rub warmth back into the chilled flesh. Jesus remained unresponsive, even if his stiffened shoulders relaxed just a little. His lips parted a few times. He was trying to form words, but nothing emerged. </p><p>“Has he started talking yet?”</p><p>Simon shook his head. “I’m sorry about your table, by the way. I’ll get you a new one.”</p><p>“I don’t know if I trust your taste in furniture.” Simon’s lips lifted slightly at the remark, but his face still bore remnants of that senseless fear Judas had caught a glimpse of before he went berserk.  </p><p>"You wanna tell me what happened to you two?” </p><p>Simon groaned, rage edging his voice. “It was that shitbag Caiaphas. He was on TV for, like, eight seconds, but it made us…” He folded his arms. “It felt like our worst fears had come true. Like he was right here in your living room.”</p><p>Judas’ hands curled into fists. “I wish he was. I would have made sure he stopped being a problem. For good.” </p><p>“Not if I got to him first.” Simon’s mouth was set in a grim line as he looked over at Jesus and Judas’ gaze followed suit. The rigidness had left his body; in its place was a catatonic stupor. Various attempts to elicit a reaction failed. He had all the response of a rag doll when Judas shifted him into a more comfortable position, twitching only slightly when Simon tried bending his fingers just far back enough that it should have caused some pain-related reflex.</p><p>“Should we hit him?” he whispered.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Judas felt the all too familiar prickly resentment at not being able to do more – the kind that at times made him quake with rage to the point that he did not trust himself to speak. As if sensing his turmoil, Hey You started moving in figure-eights around his leg while whining softly. He picked her up absently; almost immediately she clambered out of his hand and proceeded to crawl all over his boyfriend. After a minute or so, Jesus’ hand slowly slid upward to stroke between her ears.</p><p>Judas called his name twice, thrice. Around the fourth time he blinked in response and made a soft sound that could have been a word, or just a sigh. He stroked the side of that pale, troubled face. Jesus responded with a small sharp intake of breath. Feeling suffused his deadened features as if he was emerging from a trance. His eyes immediately darted about in fear until they landed on the man in front of him. </p><p>“Judas,” he murmured. Judas pulled him close, glad for the sound of his voice. Then the tremors began.</p><p>“It was <em> him, </em>” Jesus said breathlessly. “He was…he was going to…” </p><p>“He’s not going to do anything.” Judas stroked his hair as Simon rubbed circles into his back. “I’m here. We’re here.”</p><p>Hey You meowed at Jesus, and he cradled her to his chest, calm slowly settling into his face. At the feel of Judas’ hand on the back of his neck, he leaned in till their lips brushed. Simon discreetly slid away as they kissed. When they parted, Jesus’ attention was drawn to the clink of glass that Simon was sweeping into a small pile. He looked about and noticed the ruined coffee table. “What happened?” </p><p>“Simon flew into a rage shortly after the…TV episode,” Judas replied. “The two of you have very different ways of dealing with shit, and I’m not sure which is more fucked up.”</p><p>“Just pray I don’t end up breaking more things as a form of therapy,” Simon said, using a bunch of kitchen towels to mop up the rum. “I thought this was whisky, by the way. Sorry about that.” </p><p>Judas winced at the realisation. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“I’ll get you three more bottles of the stuff. Even better than what we spilt all over your rug.” Simon’s primary source of income was a steady trade in black-market liquor.</p><p>“I said it’s fine. Probably stick to wine and beer for a while.”</p><p>“I can arrange for that, too.”</p><p>“Thanks, Simon.” Jesus’ voice cracked slightly from the stretch of disuse. “Not for the drinks, I mean. For…” A lump filled his throat, and he had to let it subside before speaking again. “For everything.”</p><p>Simon strode up to the sofa where he was perched and hugged him fiercely. “You’ll always have me,” he said. “And your boyfriend. And we’d both commit murder rather than let anything happen to you.”</p><p>“Please don’t.”</p><p>“Sorry – it’s part of the package. I don’t know that you get a choice.” Simon grinned, and Judas found the corner of his own mouth lifting. Jesus clung to him as their lips met again, hungry to close any distance between them. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t want me to,” Judas murmured.</p><p>“I will. I promise.”</p><p>“We’re gonna get through this.”</p><p>“It might take a long time. I don’t know how long.”</p><p>Judas frowned. “Are you really so afraid I’ll leave you?”</p><p>“More than anything," came the fervent reply. "More even than…than if Caiaphas himself were to appear right here.” Saying his name caused his breath to hitch and his hands to turn cold, but his eyes were filled with a light that hadn’t been there before. “I haven’t been able to say that name since it happened.” </p><p>Judas really didn’t want to initiate the conversation he was about to, but he didn’t see that they had a choice. “I think,” he said, unusually gently, “it’s time you told me what happened.” </p><p>He tensed and shrank just a little. “You already know…”</p><p>“I mean what you’ve been trying not to tell me. Whatever you’ve been holding back and that makes you pull away when I do the wrong things.” Jesus bit his lip and looked down tll Judas tilted his chin back up. “And stop being ashamed. Stop insisting that any of this was your fault.”</p><p>“You can’t keep it in you forever,” Simon added. “It’ll tear you apart sooner or later. Both of you.” </p><p>Jesus went pale as he squeezed his eyes shut. They flew open a second later, full of horror. “Where do I start?” </p><p>“I don’t know. Maybe with whatever just flashed through your head.” </p><p>Simon’s hands were on his shoulder, steadying him. In a whisper he recounted moments rather than incidents, not bothering with chronology. The gun against his temple, in his mouth, fusing humiliation and abject fear into one. The terror of being stripped and displayed and used by men who had the absolute power to do anything they wished to him – and the knowledge that there was no stopping any of it. Trying to maintain a brave front the way he knew Simon had done, and failing, and feeling like he had failed his friend who struggled in pain at all he was forced to witness. Trying desperately not to think of Judas when Jonathan caressed him and fucked him thoroughly. “I failed Simon. And I’m failing you now,” he sobbed into Judas’ shoulder, knowing the statement to be irrational. “It feels like I never left that place. I don’t know if I ever can.” </p><p>“You know that’s bullshit, right?” Simon said softly. He nodded. </p><p>“They did terrible things to us,” Simon continued.” It doesn’t mean they own us – any part of us.”</p><p>He blinked at those words as if they had lifted a weight off his soul. “You’re right.”</p><p>Simon squeezed his hand tightly for emphasis. “They don’t own you. They never did. They never can.”</p><p>A fresh wave of sobs overcame him, but with a different cadence than the ones before: in place of torment was relief, of hope, even. Judas’ arms were tight around him. Simon slid his hand over to Judas’ arm, the latter’s red tear-filled eyes reflecting his own. His grip and his eyes said: <em>I know you’re horrified and angry and helpless.</em> <em>I’ve been there. Part of me is still there. </em>Out loud, he simply said, “We’ll get through this.”</p><p>Minutes passed as the air between them cleared, the burden of the past slowly lifting as Simon inundated Hey You with all the patting she could want, with the occasional contribution from Jesus. The last of the movie’s end credits were rolling out. Outside, the white afternoon heat had begun to give way to the warm slanting light of evening. They let themselves gaze blankly at the TV screen until Simon perked up at the <em> Back To The Future </em> theme song and turned up the volume. </p><p>“Oh look, it’s the sequel.” He sprawled out over his part of the sofa with the manner of someone who had mastered the art of making himself at home without needing an invitation. “You got any snacks? I really should’ve brought some.”</p><p>“Are you really staying for the whole movie?” Judas asked, arm around his boyfriend.  </p><p>“Oh. This is how it is, huh?” Simon replied, blithely ignoring the underlying request for some private time. “I get kicked out the moment I outlive my usefulness?”</p><p>A faint smile crossed Jesus’ face. “Let him stay,” he urged, snuggling deeper into Judas’ embrace. “At least he keeps Hey You out of your hair.” They ended up watching the kitten instead of the movie as she attempted with great determination to clamber onto Simon’s head. His phone lit up with a message; with some delicate manoeuvring so as not to knock her off his arm, he fished it out of his pocket. It was from James.</p><p>
  <em> -How are things? You and Jesus alright? </em>
</p><p>“I dunno. Am I?” Simon whispered to Hey You so that only she could hear him. She gazed into his eyes with paws on his chest, her small belly warm against his own. He looked over to where the couple were watching Marty McFly’s time travel misadventure with arms draped over each other, looking as peaceful as Simon had seen them since he and Jesus had been through hell and back. With a similar peace settling into his insides, he replied the message.</p><p>
  <em> -Not completely. But we’re getting there. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>~ END ~</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We wanted for this last chapter to be a bit more cheerful; fluffy, even. But uh. Angst happened. We did manage to end on an optimistic note though so ^___^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Bonus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So... remember how we finished this fic? Yeah. We continued it XD</p>
<p>To be honest, we were kind of annoyed at the fact that basically, Caiaphas won. So we fixed that. Using our brand new OCs because clearly they need to exist and be shown to the world. We're sorry except not really</p>
<p>Small warning for gore in case that throws people off</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>-2 WEEKS AGO-</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joshua Cabeza didn’t take well to being displeased. Possibly a side effect of the fact that he tended to get what he wanted, how he wanted it, when he wanted it. He had earned that right as the member of an old and powerful family, not to mention his own business success. Which was why it was unfortunate that he found himself displeased for the second time in the span of only a few days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first time had been a couple of days ago, when Joshua had hired Simon for the evening. Now, Simon’s performance had been fine, but that was also as far as Joshua was willing to go. Lacklustre seemed like a more appropriate term, really. To the point that Joshua had simply left with the excuse of an unexpected business meeting. The lack of comment had further confirmed his suspicion that something was horribly wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had taken him only a couple of hours to find when things had gone wrong. After that it was easy enough to get the ball rolling. Sure, finding out the exact details had taken some time, but Joshua was a patient man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The final conclusion had been brought by the woman currently sitting in front of him, Carmen Anais. She crossed her legs under her red silk dress and lit her cigarette as if they hadn’t been discussing rape and abuse. Of course, they had had champagne over objectively more disturbing things on multiple occasions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I presume we’re taking action,” Carmen said. She brought the cigarette holder to her mouth, inhaling the smoke and letting it escape her lips in the sensual way she had mastered better than the average person mastered breathing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Joshua said, reaching over for the phone. Not only did Joshua like to have confirmation before taking the extreme action this situation required, but he also didn’t mind letting Caiaphas squirm. After all, there was no where he could go anyway. Running from certain people was simply impossible. People like Seth Lucas, the young man who had helped Joshua in finding out what had happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joshua had his assistant connect him to Caiaphas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good evening Mr. Cabeza, how can I help you?” Caiaphas sounded jovial enough, but the nervous undertone was unmistakable to Joshua’s trained ears. Joshua shot a telling look to Carmen, who smiled around the cigarette holder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Joseph,” Joshua said, not deeming Caiaphas worthy of the respect put in formal addresses. “It has come to my attention you have recently come in contact with two… let’s call them troublemakers, shall we?” Not a term Joshua would usually use, but he supposed Caiaphas would consider them as such. “Simon Zealotes and Jesus Christ.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Caiaphas said, sounding more pleased with himself. “You need not worry, Mr. Cabeza, they have been appropriately dealt with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I’ve heard,” Joshua said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “But you see, that’s exactly where my problem lies. Simon Zealotes, and by extent his friends, is under my protection. You can imagine that I wasn’t pleased to hear what you did to them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence that followed Joshua’s statement was more telling than anything Caiaphas possibly could have said. Joshua wasn’t about to ease the situation for him and simply waited for Caiaphas to choose his strategy. Not that his choice would make a difference in how this situation was going to play out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no need to value him that much,” Caiaphas said eventually. Joshua raised an eyebrow, one matched by a grin from Carmen, who undoubtedly could hear every word Caiaphas said. “He’s merely a cock slut, nothing more. He needed no help proving that. He isn’t worthy of your regard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I disagree. While he is indeed a cock slut, he’s the best I’ve ever met, and I’ve met plenty of people, son.” He could practically hear Caiaphas realising he had fucked up. “Now, I don’t like people getting in my way or ruining what I enjoy. I thought you were aware, but I’m disappointed to find a blatant disregard of those facts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can assure you, I wasn’t aware you knew each other, much less that he enjoyed your favour.” It seemed that Caiaphas’ next plan of attack was to grovel. Something which Joshua hated on a good day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how does that solve my problem?” A short silence followed, wherein Caiaphas at least didn’t try to put up any pretence. “That’s what I feared.” Joshua hung up without another word, redirecting his attention back to Carmen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d think he was smarter than that,” Joshua observed, leaning back in his leather chair and taking a glass with scotch from his desk. He swirled the amber liquid around in the crystal glass, already thinking about the best way to exact their revenge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know they never are,” Carmen observed. “They only appear smart because they surround themselves with stupid men.” She smiled and stood up from her chair, straightening out the fabric of her dress, back to its immaculate state. “Now, come, I will show you that painting I promised you. And then we can inform the others.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>-PRESENT DAY-</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lydia Lai had spent years analysing the blind spots of closed-circuit TVs, passcode systems, Bluetooth-enabled check-ins and other methods galleries and prestigious institutions used to safeguard their treasures. She was in the midst of disabling a security camera in a museum of repute housing a particular artifact she had had her eye on for some time when her phone buzzed. She ignored it until she was safely out through the exit that only someone who had studied the place assiduously and at length would know about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Eleazar – or Elmo, as she had him listed in her phone. None of them used their real names in messages, calls or emails. Eleazar hadn’t exactly consented to being nicknamed after a small squeaky Muppet, but the moniker had stuck. His text was as short as he was verbose in real life, at least to those he was on familiar terms with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-You know about the job?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-As if Carmen wouldn’t have told me first.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Good. That means you know about the plan too.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Down to the last juicy detail.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Have fun.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-I always do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slid into her car and got right to checking for messages from Seth, the youngest in the circle after herself. Seth was a fastidious kind of guy who hated to get his hands unnecessarily messy. But this also made him very good at finding ways to dig up dirt without having to bring his own shovel. He was the opposite of Lydia, who absolutely loved sinking her fingers, teeth and assortment of knives into things. It was the reason she still sometimes disabled cameras in person, despite knowing such things could be done remotely nowadays. At least, if one really made an effort. Both Seth and Carmen knew the ins and outs of dubious uses of technology and would avoid putting themselves in harm’s way wherever possible, because they had very different ideas of what constituted a good time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lydia scanned through the information he had sent her on an ambitious young man with a promising political career. Who also happened to be one of the fellows involved in some very nasty acts perpetrated upon Simon Zealotes and his fellow revolutionary. He looked like a real piece of work. She had known boys like that back in college and had wanted to stab every single one of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was definitely going to enjoy this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Beach Bar was one of those places frequented by a variety of – in Lydia’s opinion, anyway  – obnoxious patrons who thought the world of themselves, including aspiring social media influencers hustling freebies in exchange for ‘brand exposure’ and start-up entrepreneurs convinced they were going to be the next Elon Musk. Lydia, wearing the guise and air of a product-hawking airhead, had no trouble fitting in as she ordered the most egregiously named cocktail on the menu and waited for her prey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was not hard to spot, once you realised the exact type you were looking for: overdressed, over-confident in his charm, a smarmy grin permanently plastered on his face. It helped that he was taller than average, towering above most of his fellow Wall Street wannabes. He would have looked very dapper in his well-tailored suit were it not for Lydia’s instinct telling her that he would drop to his knees and blow the next person who could shoot him to the top. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone in his gang ordered a Flaming Lamborghini, which Carmen would have called tacky. As the overgrown frat boys whooped and drank from the stacked glasses through their glass straws, Lydia sat back and watched. A good part of the fun was watching your prey enjoy their last moments on earth. The poor boy would never live to get to the top rungs of the ladder he has worked so hard (or licked so much ass) to cling onto. Lydia slurped the last dregs of her appletini and watched, and waited.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young man was fairly drunk as he made his way to his overpriced car, and didn’t see the flashily dressed killer tailing his shadow until her liquor-laced lips were on his. “I seem to have misplaced my car,” she said. “You wanna give me a ride?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jonathan chuckled agreeably, flattered by the way she was draping herself all over him. She noticed that he couldn’t help glance about surreptitiously, wanting his peers to see the wild chick who found him – and the prospect of his cock – irresistible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure I can’t buy you a drink first?” he replied, squaring his shoulders with pride. “We can go to a classier joint than this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm. I don’t need classy. Just somewhere quiet.” She pulled him to a dark, quiet corner, and he didn’t have the presence of mind to resist. He didn’t even see her switchblade till it was too late. Before he could cry out, the blade was buried in his throat: enough to sever his vocal chords and turn his shout into a gurgle. But not enough to kill him – not yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tore open his expensive-looking shirt and sliced him from chest to groin, savouring the wet terrible sound and the way her knife was sharp enough to make a good clean line. She would have hated the reports to state that the killer seemed sloppy or amateurish. His flailing hands reached for the long, gaping wound to try and press it close; half in shock, he still believed he had a chance of surviving. While peeling off the bloodied gloves that she would later burn along with her stained overalls, she leaned close to his ear and whispered: “This is for Simon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a long time to die. Lydia wiped off her switchblade thoroughly as she waited, and watched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carmen had encountered both grovellers and squealers in her colourful career, and appreciated that what they did was often necessary to get a job done. But few things were more noxious than someone who grovelled and squealed simultaneously. And the short pasty-faced personage before her embodied almost everything she disliked in a human being, right down to his grating high-pitched voice. Reeking disingenuousness from his every pore, he came to her with the knowledge that his head was on the chopping block. He therefore also came with a proposition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think I need to spell things out to someone of your remarkable intelligence,” Annas said midway through their second round of martinis. “I value my life; you value exacting justice on one Joseph Caiaphas. What value is there in knocking a pawn off the board, when you can use that pawn to get to the king?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you would betray one of your own. Just like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not lightly. I never betray anyone without a very good reason –”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That reason being you’re afraid to go take a piss without someone to hold your hand.” Her eyes studied him like a taxidermist studies a dead insect. “You’re afraid for your life. And rightly so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His short laugh was an attempt at self-assured joviality. It came out sounding nervous. “Let’s be real. What happened to poor Jonathan was surely...excessive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We may have been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> too enthusiastic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made a gesture of concession. “Still, if you were to do the same to the mastermind himself, I can’t deny it would be just. That</span>
  <em>
    <span> is</span>
  </em>
  <span> your ultimate goal, right? Get straight to the top, take out the boss.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm. And you can clear a path right to him, so to speak.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We would greatly appreciate that. Except, unluckily for you, we already have the information we need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had some persistence, she had to give him that. “How many more are on your hit list? Do you know the name and location of every single man who was in that room?” Annas was almost transparently hopeful as he dangled the promise of intelligence on every last perpetrator.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know of at least three others. Including two who were directly involved in sticking their cocks, non-consensually, into a very dear friend of Simon Zealotes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His composure faltered just a little. “There were others who…may not have actively participated, but who made the arrangements possible…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see.” She leaned forward to reach for her drink, her fingers lightly brushing the rim of his glass. “I don’t like you, Annas. Not one bit. But you make an interesting proposition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Annas’ poker face was back on, but she didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement beneficial to all parties involved.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I know we can.” Her smile caused his own to reappear. They clinked their glasses in what looked to all like a most amicable toast. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until Annas was tucking his shirt back in after a visit to the men’s room that he began to feel a tightness in his belly. Thinking it was gas from the spicy lunch he’d had before meeting with Carmen, he fished around in his pocket for antacids. But the sensation grew steadily worse until he knew it was nothing to do with indigestion, and everything to do with something Ms Anais had slipped into his martini. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew his chances at living were getting slimmer by the second. As he rushed outside to make a call to one of a few valuable contacts who could potentially save him from his painful predicament, a tanned, well-built man with heavily tattooed forearms reached out to him in concern. “Hey. You okay, buddy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need a hospital,” Annas choked out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Naw, man. Too late for that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What – what are you – ” His throat had begun to swell, leaving him unable to call for help as the man known in emails as Elmo dragged him without much effort into the quiet street behind the small café-pub where he had downed the martini that doomed him. When he heard the clipped sound of her low-heeled boots and saw Carmen walking down the alley with a smile, he knew that death was coming for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I considered the terms of your proposed arrangement,” she stated. “But you know, I think I like mine better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her smile disappeared as soon as she leaned close. “Don’t worry. Your death won’t be in vain,” she said as the tattooed guy whipped out a wicked-looking knife. “It will serve nicely as a message to those who trust too much in their positions of power. As will this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pinned his right hand to the wall so the man could slice off two of his fingers. He would have screamed, but his throat would only let out a hoarse whistling sound. “Now would be an appropriate time to squeal,” she remarked as the knife teased a trail down to his crotch. When the blade dug into the same body part he had once gleefully shoved into both Simon and Jesus, he squealed very much indeed. The last thing he saw before his heart came to a halt was his severed dick being waved in his face, looking woefully shrunken and flaccid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only two days after the brutal murder on Jonathan Ananus, the police has just now confirmed the death and murder of Annas Braga. It is yet unsure if the two murders are connected. A police spokesman claims the murders are most likely revenge killings, based on their brutal nature. Sadly, due to Mr. Braga’s prominent political position, this does not shorten the list of suspects. Thus the police ask anyone with a tip to contact them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The images that accompanied the news segment were grotesque, despite being blurred to the point that the victim had become unrecognisable even for people who were familiar with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nova News has attempted to contact Joseph Caiaphas, for whom both victims worked, but Mr. Caiaphas has refused to give off a statement.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An inaudible but collective sigh of relief ran through John’s living room. All the friends had gathered there for a movie night, but the movie had been interrupted by the news segment. Judas had wanted to simply zap away once the subject of the news segment became clear, but was refrained from doing so by Jesus insisting that it was fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus genuinely seemed fine, if a bit uncomfortable. But that was mostly due to the fact that he was conflicted about being glad Annas and Jonathan were dead and condemning all murder. Caiaphas’ voice however, would have been enough to send him over the edge as it had done only a couple of days prior.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The same concern applied to Simon, who was now left to stare at the screen with an almost burning intensity, the hints of both a frown and a grin playing on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do hope they won’t turn to anyone we know as the suspect,” Mary pointed out. She really just meant everyone in the room, especially Judas and Simon, but decided not to voice that out loud and risk adding to Jesus’ anxiety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They won’t,” Simon said as he whipped out his phone and started texting someone. “This will be a cold case before the end of the month.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sound sure of yourself,” James remarked from where he was seated on the floor, his feet firmly buried in the plush of one of John’s many rugs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, the alternative is that someone is going to invite Joshua to court and however hilarious that would be, it’s just not going to happen,” Simon explained. Which was an explanation only James seemed to understand. Everyone else just looked at Simon with varying looks of confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Simon,” Mary said, her tone making it clear she wanted a proper explanation. “You know who did this and you’re on a first name basis with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Them,” Simon corrected, slipping his phone back in his pocket to focus on the present conversation. “There’s five of them, unless I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. I met them back when I still did the escort gig. We just kept in contact after I quit. While having a company as a third person to work out all the details is nice, this is more fun </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> more profitable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter and Matthew nodded in understanding and were ready to move on from the conversation, but everyone else just looked at Simon with new confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two steps back,” John said, “you did escort?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mention that?” Simon asked, after which he immediately shrugged. “Oh, well, now you know. You can’t afford me though.” He winked at the asexual John, who just rolled his eyes and then looked at his boyfriend with faked suspicion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t seem surprised,” he said, getting close to Matthew’s face, which was made easy by the fact that Matthew was seated in his lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ehm… I’m not?” Matthew said with renewed confusion. “He still did that when I crashed his couch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John narrowed his eyes, but then let all the dramatics go and shortly kissed his boyfriend. “Fine, that’s a good excuse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s yours?” Mary asked, poking Peter’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s face immediately took on a reddish tint. He did his best to avoid his girlfriend’s amused look as he answered: “Well… I-er… kind of made use of it.” It took him a couple of seconds to realise what he was suggesting. “I did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck Simon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon snorted. “You wish you did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary gave him a pointed glare, which not-so-subtly told him to stop teasing her boyfriend and explain what did happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He wanted to try out the whole gay sex thing, so I set him up with someone from the company with a nice discount,” Simon explained, which somehow only increased the red tint on Peter’s cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good for you,” Mary said, kissing Peter on the cheek. Peter’s blush had visibly lessened when he looked back up at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So these people decided to kill off two major politicians because you happen to suck them off occasionally?” Judas asked. He honestly couldn’t care less about who fucked who and why. Instead he was far more interested in this apparent revenge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Basically, yes,” Simon confirmed. “You might find it hard to believe, my friend, but some people actually enjoy my company.” Judas just rolled his eyes and gave a noncommittal grunt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A </span>
  <em>
    <span>ping</span>
  </em>
  <span> from Simon’s phone announced a new message. He read it with a growing grin before quickly typing a response. “And soon it will be three major politicians.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three?” Judas asked, leaning forward despite his arm around Jesus’ shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon nodded. “They’re going after Caiaphas next. And when I say ‘they’, I mean ‘we’, because I just invited myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m joining in as well,” Judas said. His voice left no room for arguing and Simon didn’t try. He just nodded and typed another message. Jesus, however, was not so accepting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you can’t do that,” Jesus said, sitting up, looking between Simon and Judas. “If they get you… If they find out what you did…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re not going to,” Simon assured his friend. “No one is stupid enough to put any of my friends on trial. Especially not if they find out they’re working together. Seth can get dirt on anyone within a matter of hours. People care more about their reputation than bringing so-called justice to the murderers of people like Caiaphas. Joshua is practically untouchable unless you have a death wish, in which case it’s just easier to throw yourself off the nearest building. Same effect. Carmen and Lydia are too good at evading suspicion beyond rumours to get caught up in anything and Eleazar is both fast and good at stabbing, which is all you really need to stay ahead of the police anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He realised this was all a bit too much information, and summarised: “Trust me, these guys are pros. If they’re willing to go on a killing spree for what those shitbags did to us, you can be damn sure they’ll have our backs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looked at Jesus in a way that left no room for doubt, until eventually Jesus nodded slowly. He still wasn’t excited at the idea, but was at least accepting that it was going to happen. “Alright. If you say so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Conflicting emotions played out on his face, from recollections of past traumas to the prospect that the nightmare might finally come to an end,  as he snuggled deeper into the curve of Judas’ body, wordlessly seeking assurance. Judas’ arm tightened around him in response. They spent the rest of the movie with their bodies pressed close, taking comfort from the banter of their friends and Simon’s usual obnoxious commentary providing some respite from the ghosts that  – if things went to plan – would soon be laid to rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The correlation between Jonathan’s murder and Joshua’s phone call hadn’t been lost on Caiaphas. However, Caiaphas had naively assumed that Joshua wasn’t offended enough to reach much higher than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was until he was contacted about Annas’ murder, shortly after which he allegedl received Annas’ fingers and member in the mail. Allegedly, because Caiaphas hadn’t actually seen the body pieces himself. His assistant had suffered that unpleasant fate. The message wasn’t any less clear though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caiaphas had immediately taken action. Initially, he had contacted his most poweful allies, but two had hung up as soon as he mentioned Joshua and the others hand't even picked up the phone. Undoubtedly they had been contacted by the first two. His next move had been to remove himself from his office, instead choosing to reside in a penthouse very few knew he owned. He had doubled his security and dismissed the rest of his staff. Little did he know that those things were exactly what sealed his already inevitable fate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seth had already tainted the security system of the building before Caiaphas had ever arrived, which Joshua had predicted he would. It allowed Carmen to turn off the system once the day of judgement arrived. By that time, all members of security had already been replaced with people loyal to Joshua and Eleazar. People who would happily turn a blind eye to what was about to happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two of these men intercepted Caiaphas on one of his odd walks outside the office, knocking him on the head so he slumped in their arms to be dragged back to the office he had only just left. Just in time for the group of people that had been semi-patiently waiting downstairs to come up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carmen and Eleazar made quick work of undressing and tying up the unconscious Caiaphas. Joshua sat down in the desk chair, opening the box of cigars that stood on the desk. He shot them a disappointed look, finding the quality of the brand lacking, but lit one anyway. Seth placed himself on the desk, leaning back on his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lydia stood by the side, her arm wrapped around Simon’s waist in what at first glance was simply familiarity. Anyone more observant would see the hooded steel behind his eyes and the way he grabbed his arms just a bit too tightly and realise she was really keeping him calm enough to wait. Simon’s tense energy was matched only by Judas, who stood in the corner, secluded from everyone, his glare fixated on the still unconscious Caiaphas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took several minutes for Caiaphas to wake up. He groaned around the ball gag in his mouth, which prevented him from making more coherent sounds. His eyes flew open once he realised his position and company.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re becoming predictable, Joseph,” said Joshua, exhaling tendrils of cigar smoke. “Not to mention your standards are slipping. These are barely even proper Cubans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carmen ran her gaze over the naked bound man with folded arms. “Then again, did we expect any more of someone who stoops to gangbanging as a means of warfare?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Disappointing, to say the least. Utterly lacking in class.” Joshua leaned forward. “Eleazar has dealt with lowly street thugs who have more self-respect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eleazar nodded. “Been watching him through the cams for the past hour,” he added as he produced a knife with a curved blade, followed by a larger serrated one. “He’s been sweating like a pig who knows its time is up. Except even pigs are not so dumb as to corner themselves and walk right into a trap.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laid the curved knife in front of Caiaphas’ face. “See this? This is what I used to carve your associate’s dick from his balls.” A whimper escaped the ball gag, along with a thin sliver of drool. “Not that there was much of either. It’s interesting the way a man’s sausage shrinks just before you start slicing in.”  Eleazar’s eyes travelled to the area of the man’s crotch, and his whimpers turned to hoarse, urgent groans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Smirking, he held the serrated knife to Lydia. “You want to do the honours, or what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lydia considered only briefly before taking the knife and pushing it into Simon’s hands. “I think it’s only fair that you go first,” she said. Simon’s hand curled around the handle, but he made no move to use it. “I feel like I could tear him apart with my bare hands.” His voice was harsh, unlike anything they had heard from his mouth before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joshua stubbed out the cigar in his hand in favour of one from his own pocket. “It’s your party, Simon,” he said calmly. “Well, yours and your friend’s over there. How you get it started is entirely up to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We also have ice picks,” Lydia added enthusiastically. “And whips. And a variety of butt plugs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep them,” Simon said, moving away from Lydia, his eyes fixated on Caiaphas. He twirled the knife around in his hand, testing its weight and length. Of course, he was nowhere near as good with knives as Eleazar, but he knew his way around with them well enough. Caiaphas’ eyes tracked him across the room in an ironic reversal of roles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Due to the fact that Caiaphas’ arms were bound behind his back, his shoulder blades lifted slightly away from his centre back. Simon’s eyes fell on the spot. In one swift move, he grabbed Caiaphas’ shoulder with one hand and drove the knife under his shoulder blade with the other, avoiding any major veins and arteries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Caiaphas had been able to scream, he would have. Instead, all that came out were muffled cries and saliva. Every movement he made, caused the ragged edge of the blade to carve into his muscles and nerve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut. Up,” Simon said through clenched teeth, “and take it.” He slammed his elbow against the shoulder blade, which elicited another muffled cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d do as he says,” Carmen advised, “if you want to learn your lesson.” Caiaphas’ head whipped up, eyes wide as he looked at Carmen. He hadn’t missed the silent promise that he might just walk out with his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The relief was short-lived, however, for Simon started kicking at Caiaphas as all self-restraint he had had, disappeared completely. In its place was full blown rage. The kind he had only experienced a handful of ties. Never to this extent though. Never before had he beaten someone to a bloody pulp, but that’s what he did now. The anger on his face was somehow only amplified by the vague hint of tears in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With no one caring enough to stop him, he kept going until the rage had lost its edge. He was panting, looking down at Caiaphas’ miserable form. To his credit, Caiaphas had made very little sound for someone receiving a beating with a blade in his back. Simon spat on his face before stepping back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good of you to save something for your friend,” Carmen remarked as Lydia hugged Simon, who sagged against her briefly before slowly returning the embrace. Caiaphas, still reeling from the relentless assault, now shrunk from Judas and the ice pick in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn him around,” said Judas, his voice unsettlingly calm. “So I can choose which part of his soft belly to stick this in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eleazar removed the knife from beneath Caiaphas’ shoulder blade, his expertise such that it caused as little damage as was possible with a jagged blade. “You got a light?” he asked Judas, who tossed his Zippo over. Eleazar flicked a flame to life and pressed it to the knife wound, cauterizing it enough to stem the bleeding while eliciting a muffled roar of pain. “Don’t want him to bleed out before we’re done.” He smiled grimly and pushed the lighter back into Judas’ pocket before turning their victim over with Lydia’s help. Judas said nothing, but spent a long moment just staring down at Caiaphas, sweeping him from head to toe, taking in the exposed stretch of bare skin and the cock that would have been more impressive were it not in its present shrunken state. All the while no one said a word. The palpable tension in the air stretched out in a way that someone like Carmen or Joshua doubtless found perversely enjoyable. Lydia and Eleazar hovered with the air of restless children, their own anticipation far less veiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pointed the tip of his weapon somewhere in the region of the man’s left testicle. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time,” he said, every word full of agony that had since been distilled and sharpened into ice-cold shards. “And now I don’t even know where to begin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The veins in his forearm rose as his grip around the handle tightened. “But I think it’s only right that you never get to use these again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pick rose and fell, and the terrible sounds – and barely restrained screaming – that followed would have traumatised anyone who was not the specific people gathered in that room. Even so, there was not a one among them who did not reflexively flinch at that fleshy, grisly hit save for Joshua, whose slightly stiffened shoulders were the only sign of perturbance even as he raised an eyebrow in what looked like approval. Three times more the bloodied spear hit its target (until what was left was no longer recognisable) before moving further up to sink into Caiaphas’ guts: lower intestine, liver, a narrowly missed lung. Judas had missed on purpose, of course. The man’s organs would be intact enough to keep him alive for a good few more hours – long after he would be better off dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again and again the weapon landed, each time finding a new unmarked spot to sink into. His features were so contorted in rage that it was questionable if anybody other than Simon saw the raw torment behind it, the traces of tears in between the harsh lines of his face. Tears for the pain and shame the man he loved had been made to bear. Tears for every time he wished he could take some of that pain instead of watching it try to tear Jesus apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With preternatural strength built up from months of hurt and loathing, Judas ripped the gag from his victim’s mouth, snapping the leather strap in two. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let him scream, </span>
  </em>
  <span>said the fury pouring forth from his every pore. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to hear him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The ice pick came down one last time and stabbed out Caiaphas’ right eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The screaming went on for quite some time before it faded into hoarse, wheezing whimpers of a man driven mad with agony that poured off him in waves as those gathered around him drank it all up. When the room was silent again, Seth got up and stretched his limbs. “Seeing as you people got this covered, I’m getting coffee,” he announced as if they were in the midst of a business meeting. “Any orders?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joshua shook his head. “Americano, extra shot,” said Carmen. “Caramel latte,” Lydia piped up. “And the same for El.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m coming along,” Simon said a little too loudly. “In case you need help with all those cups.” Seth arched an eyebrow, but then realised from Simon’s pale face and the shaking hand he had shoved into his jeans pocket that it was an excuse to take a breather.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon laid a hand on Judas’ shoulder; the man was seated and slumped forward, blinking in a slight daze as if reeling from the intensity of his own attack. “I’ll get you your regular, shall I?’ After a second or so, Judas nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the two men had left, Lydia declared: “My turn now!” She went to the table where the various ‘toys’ were laid out and chose a small hammer. “We haven’t broken any bones yet, have we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave his knees,” Carmen replied. “I have plans that may require them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded and set to work finding interesting joints to crack, jolting Caiaphas from the haze of shock he had fallen into after Judas’ vicious assault. His throat raw from screaming, he could only emit painful wheezing sounds when she went to work on his fingers, tapping on the various small joints before smashing his left thumb with glee. Eleazar feigned disinterest at first, but soon joined in by carving a variety of patterns into Caiaphas’ thighs and calves, the only stretch of flesh left largely untouched. “You’re such an artist,” Lydia praised. She looked over her shoulder at Judas, having noticed the ink on his arms. “Eleazar has a tattoo shop, y’know. You should come over once of these days. He’ll give you a discount.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I will.” The first words he had spoken since laying down his ice pick. He seemed to have settled into a state of calm as he watched the show along with the others. Lydia brought down the hammer one last time like a kid at a carnival game – splintering most of the bones of his left foot – before declaring with a whoop that she was done. “Can’t kill him yet, or I’d still be at it, mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carmen shot her a small appreciative look as she rose to her feet. “Get up,” she said to Caiaphas, reaching for a long leather whip. She grabbed the fine leather and turned around to see that the man had neglected to obey her order and let the whip crack through the air, only missing his face by a few millimetres. “On your knees, filth. We’re not yet done with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuelled only by the promise of survival, Caiaphas did what she told him to. He pushed himself upright with much difficulty and pain-filled groans. Carmen regarded him with contempt as she walked around him. Without a warning, she let the whip come down on his back with more strength than an untrained eye would have expected from her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having expected this, Lydia hit play on the song she had prepared on her phone. The upbeat tune of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whipped into Shape </span>
  </em>
  <span>from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Legally Blonde</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounded through the tiny speakers. For any average person, the song would have been a complete mismatch with the cracking of Carmen’s whip and Caiaphas’ cries of pain. Not for Lydia, of course.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the song came to a close, Seth and Simon arrived with the drinks. By then Caiaphas’ back was a bloody mess. “What’d we miss?” Seth asked as they distributed coffee. Carmen accepted her Americano and took a sip with one hand while raining down the last lash with another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joshua stood up from the chair he had been occupying and came to where Caiaphas was kneeling. He looked down at the man as one might look at vermin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With one fluid move, Carmen wrapped the whip around Caiaphas’ neck, pulling on it to block his airway. Caiaphas’ eyes flew open in a panicked frenzy. He moved his hands as if he wanted to remove the whip, but sadly for him, they were still bound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joshua crouched down in front of him. He took the cigar from his mouth and blew the smoke in Caiaphas’ face, eliciting a choking reaction that Caiaphas didn’t have the air for. Carmen loosened the whip just enough to let Caiaphas take a few sharp breaths of air before tightening it again, effectively preventing him from fainting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, I know you still think you’re walking away from all this,” Joshua said as he pressed the burning end of the cigar against Caiaphas’ skin. He straightened from his crouched position and threw the cigar on the floor. “But you really should’ve read the fine print, son.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Realisation settled in Caiaphas and with that, did the panic. He struggled as much as his body and boundaries allowed. It only functioned to draw the whip tighter around his neck. He fell to his side, trashing on the ground with the burning need for air he wouldn’t get until he finally fell still, eyes bulging.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve seen rats die more gracefully than that,” Seth remarked dryly. </span>
</p>
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